


The Dance

by skybone



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cluelessness, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, unending cluelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: Cassandra does not dance. Ever. Except... well. There are dances, and then there are dances.





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lecriteuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday, lecriteuse!

“I do not dance,” said Cassandra firmly.

“Oh, come now” said Josephine, sighing. “Can you expect us to believe that Nevarran princesses are not taught such elementary skills?”

“I went to the Seekers when I was twelve years old,” said Cassandra, scowling. She did not mention that the seekers also taught dancing, believing it to be a useful diplomatic tool. That was not relevant.

“If Cassandra cannot or will not dance, she doesn’t need to,” said Lavellan impatiently then. “I’m not certain why _I_ need to, either.”

That brought both Josephine and Leliana’s attention right back to her, which suited Cassandra perfectly. They both started to speak at once, then stopped.

“Dancing is a tool in the Game,” said Josephine finally. “An extremely valuable one.”

Lavellan did not look convinced. “I see no reason that I should play the Game. I am _Dalish_. The Game views my people with contempt, and the feeling is entirely mutual.”

“Contempt is a given in the Game,” said Leliana. “Inquisitor, the Game is a _weapon_. Are you contemptuous of Cassandra’s sword and shield, or Cole’s daggers, because your own choice is a bow? Would you refuse to pick up a dagger if you were in close quarters where a bow was ineffective? I think not—I know that you use the weapon best suited to the battle. This is the same.”

“It is _not_ the same,” grumbled Lavellen.

But the resistance had begun to go out of her. It would not be long, thought Cassandra, before they had convinced her that the Game must be played in the ways they demanded, and begun to teach her the moves. The Seeker had a great deal of sympathy for her position, but knew that the Inquisitor did not have the stamina to maintain it against the mutual determination of both ambassador and spymaster. Her own ability to avoid the necessity of dancing at a ball held for political purposes was buoyed up by both strength of will and misanthropic reputation, but she was also protected by the fact that she would not be the centre of attention; despite her rank, she was now understood to be only a bit player in this _masque_ , watching from the sidelines. It was a position she was very thankful to occupy.

It was not that she objected to dancing in itself, not entirely. She knew how to dance the old favourites, though she did not know the latest forms and might be more than a little rusty. But she could firmly assert the position that dancing was frivolous and unimportant, and refuse to do it, and no one would think to challenge her, save possibly Leliana, who knew far too much about her past. But if she knew too much, Leliana also knew that Cassandra had not danced for years, and would be unlikely to push her, for there was no profit in doing so.

The truth was that she did not avoid dancing because she believed that it was unimportant, but because she believed the opposite. She had learned to dance resentfully and refused to do it when she did not absolutely have to, but then Regalyan had finally persuaded her to dance with him. That was when she had learned that dancing could be something more than duty. She had been desperately in love with him then, and dancing—ah, dancing had been an expression of what she felt, what they felt for each other. It had _meant_ something.

The passion had gradually faded, and the relationship ended, but she had remembered and stubbornly clung to what it had taught her, including this. Dancing, at its best, was the voice of love, and got to the truth of things between people.

She would never dance when it was anything else.

*        *        *

Cassandra was tired; it had been a long night. Lavellen had acquitted herself well, and gained honour and status and support for the Inquisition. The assassins had been stopped, Florianne was dead and Gaspard had been imprisoned for treason and would likely soon be dead as well, and Celene still held the throne, now with Briala’s support.

The ball went on long after the details had been settled, as such events always did. The Inquisitor had danced early on, and impressed the Court with her skill—all those hours of careful training had paid off—and now, freed from that responsibility, had disappeared. Other representatives of the Inquisition had danced as well, their acceptances and refusals carefully gauged for advantage. Cassandra thought that likely she was the only one who had not—or perhaps Cullen had refused absolutely as well, unnerved by the pursuit of the nobles. At least she had not had to deal with that level of attention; her scowl and reputation had deterred most who might have approached her.

She was leaning on a balustrade, watching the dancers below. The important parts of the Game had been concluded; there was no danger to the Inquisition, or any real reason for her to remain. She was not quite certain why she had not already gone, as Lavellan had; it was not as if she was enjoying herself. She pushed herself upright. Certainly no one would care if she left at this point, she thought, or even notice.

Except Josephine, who noticed everything: the Ambassador was making her way across the terrace toward her. The formal uniform suited her, Cassandra thought idly, subsiding reluctantly back onto the railing; she wore it with dignity and confidence and exuded a quiet elegance. The ruffles of her usual Antivan fashions softened her, but now she looked born to wear a uniform, to command.

Josephine leaned onto the railing beside her with a tiny sigh and the faintest drifting scent of roses. When examined closely she looked as tired as Cassandra felt, but satisfied, and considerably calmer than she had been earlier. Her fatigue did not seem to impact her beauty in the slightest, thought Cassandra. “It has been a long night,” the Ambassador said, echoing the Seeker’s earlier thoughts.

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “I am glad it is over.”

Josephine gave a little laugh. It was almost a giggle, really. “I am sure that you are. Well, you may make your escape now, Seeker; I will not prevent you.”

Cassandra nodded, but did not move. Courtesy required that she remain at least a few moments longer.

“I am thankful that assassins and violence are not part of every ball, I must say,” said the Ambassador. “They are excessively fatiguing.” And now Josephine was looking at her consideringly. “And even in less confrontational moments it must be exhausting to maintain a scowl of such severity as to frighten off everyone who approaches. I am certain that you will sleep soundly tonight.”

“I—” Cassandra stopped, wordless. Was the Ambassador teasing? Or was she truly disapproving of the Seeker’s demeanour? She suddenly felt uncomfortable, uncertain of herself. She did not like it when she did not understand the currents beneath what was being said.

“I am sorry, Lady Cassandra,” said Josephine, putting a hand on her forearm, a little pressure and a moment of warmth in the cool night air that she felt even through the sleeve of her uniform. “I should not tease you so. It is only that I am greatly relieved that things went so well, and it has made me a little giddy.”

“It is all right,” said Cassandra stiffly, still feeling unsettled. The ambassador squeezed her arm gently, let go, and leaned beside her, watching the dancers in silence.

Josephine had seen her discomfort immediately, and responded to reassure her. She was a kind woman, as well as perceptive.

“The Inquisition is too much of a player in the Game now to have only a casual presence at such important festivities, and that state of affairs is likely to continue,” Josephine was saying. “It is all to the good, politically. But I’m sorry to be confined to a uniform; they have presence, but no delicacy. And I do regret that my duties prevented me from finding the opportunity to dance.” She looked slightly wistful.

She had not danced? It had never occurred to Cassandra that she might not, given her professed enthusiasm for the activity. The Inquisitor had, and so had Vivienne. Others had been less prominent, their positions being less notable, but the Inquisition was both a scandal and a delight, and clearly its members were popular.

But Josephine had been the general who organized the Inquisition’s diplomatic moves and determined protocol that night, and she needed to be available at all times. Of course she would not dance. And she loved dancing. It was a shame.

There was a familiar tune starting up, for a dance so old and common that even Cassandra knew it. “If you would like, Ambassador,” she found herself saying, “I would be glad to give you a dance now.”

And then she stopped, shocked into silence by the words that had come out of her mouth, and stared at Josephine. Why had she said such a thing? She could not quite believe that she actually had.

Josephine was staring back; she looked as startled as Cassandra felt. And then the calm, assured, diplomatic face was back in place. “That is very kind of you, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “But I know how you feel about dancing. It is not necessary; we are all tired now, and eager to take our rest. There will be other balls. But it is _very_ kind of you to offer.” And then a sly twinkle appeared in her eye. “You have confirmed my suspicions, though, that you are not so ignorant of such things as you pretend.”

“I—” said Cassandra, “I—know only the most common dances. The ones I learned as a girl.”

“I shall not give away your secret,” said Josephine, who was still smiling. “It would be a terrible way to repay your kindness. But be warned: I may claim a dance on another occasion, at the very least when the war against Corypheus is over.”

“I would be honoured,” said Cassandra awkwardly, and bowed slightly as Josephine walked away.

Then she went to the room she shared with Leliana, found the excellent bottle that the spymaster had secured for the two of them, poured herself the large drink she had not permitted herself earlier that evening, and threw it back in one swallow.

What on earth had she been thinking? She had not been thinking. She had simply opened her mouth without thinking and the words came out. She _hated_ dancing at such affairs. She would never dance. And Josephine knew that perfectly well: her remark had been in no way a hint, and there was no reason Cassandra should feel any obligation. Why on earth had she said it? Josephine had been kind to her a moment before, but not _that_ kind. And she had never had the slightest inclination to offer to dance with anyone else who had simply been kind to her.

It was unfathomable.

*        *        *

Josephine watched her after that. There was no other way to describe it. Though perhaps Cassandra would not have noticed, had she not also been watching Josephine.

It was subtle, and not intrusive; she simply caught the Ambassador giving her a considering glance occasionally. In the early days in Haven Josephine’s attention had been far more direct and pointed, until it had been made clear that Cassandra would not leverage her position to the Inquisition’s advantage, but after they moved to Skyhold and Cassandra had withdrawn from the Council of Advisors her notice had been entirely turned elsewhere.

But now her interest in Cassandra seemed to have been renewed. _I suppose that a kind gesture from one known to be so brusque and ill-mannered surprised her_ , thought Cassandra glumly, consoling herself with the thought that the attention was not likely to last.

And then felt a moment of disappointment at the thought, which was entirely disconcerting.

_Maker. What is wrong with me?_

They had been back in Skyhold for three weeks, and Cassandra had just returned from a short excursion into the Hinterlands with the Inquisitor, when a runner brought an invitation from the Ambassador. _Lady Cassandra_ , the note said, _I have received a gift of sweets from the Nevarran ambassador. If you have the time, I would be pleased if you would join me to share them over tea tomorrow. May I suggest three o’clock in the afternoon? Regards, J Montilyet_.

Cassandra stared at the note. Tea? With the Ambassador? The thought was terrifying. She had heard from Leliana about the teas Josephine had begun to hold with the Council since their move to Skyhold, and the determination with which she approached them and the pressure she applied to enforce attendance, and been very glad to escape the requirement. But now she had been singled out. Would there be others there? That might mitigate things—she would not need to say much. But what if it was simply herself and the Ambassador?

She could refuse. Josephine had not cornered her in person, where she might have been flustered and bullied into attending; sending a note was a delicate way of leaving an escape route open. The runner was waiting for a reply; she had only to pen a short note of apology.

 _I would be pleased to join you tomorrow at three_ , she wrote.

*        *        *

 _It could have been much worse_ , she thought afterwards. She should have recalled Josephine’s diplomatic expertise; the woman knew how to deal with recalcitrant tongues. She had greeted Cassandra warmly, but not too warmly, then taken the lead and talked pleasantly about nothing of importance until Cassandra had had time to relax a little. She had asked a few questions, nothing intrusive, simply questions about the Seekers, about her training, about expeditions with the Inquisitor. Nothing so focused as to be alarming, although now it occurred to Cassandra that the Ambassador had likely learned a great deal about her during their conversation. Perhaps asking such questions had been the purpose of inviting her after all; but if so, she had made the interrogation pleasant, and she had been open about her family and her own history. The tea had been excellent—she had enquired as to Cassandra’s preferences before preparing it—and the Nevarran sweets had been a wonderful treat. The whole experience had been unexpectedly enjoyable.

But why had she asked Cassandra to tea in the first place? It was a mystery.

Honestly, the woman was entirely baffling. She played the Game with an expertise that avoided outright violence when possible but was every bit as ruthless in its application as Leliana’s machinations. She had a network of diplomats extending her reach, and worked with Leliana on ensuring that the Inquisition was well informed. She was a general, as Cassandra had observed at the ball at Halamshiral, and a very effective one. Why did a Seeker whose position provided no political benefits interest her? Cassandra found herself wondering about this a good deal when she had nothing else to occupy her mind, but came up with no answers.

Josephine was elegant and articulate, in stark contrast to herself. She did retain a level of strong individuality; instead of donning the fashions current in Val Royeaux, as most diplomats did, she preferred the couture of Antiva, and wore it with an almost insolent flair. “Josephine knows exactly how to use fashion as a tool—and as a weapon,” Leliana had murmured to Cassandra once, at a gathering of diplomats. The spymaster had seemed quite pleased by her own observation.

“What do you mean?” Cassandra had said.

“The fashions of Val Royeaux are _de rigeure_ for all who expect to influence opinion in Orlais. In wearing Antivan styles she risks being seen as uninformed and provincial. But the quality of her clothing, to those who understand such things, demonstrates that this is a deliberate choice, not ignorance, and so it does her no harm. It also means that people who are less discerning are likely to underestimate her; and that is very unwise of them.”

Cassandra had only grunted at the time, and given no more thought to it. But now she paid more attention, and could see that what Leliana said was true. The clothing that Josephine wore was of the finest quality and beautifully made. And though it was nothing that Cassandra would have worn, it suited the Ambassador; the bright colours and gold thread set off the richness of her dark skin. The ruffled satins gleamed, catching light and shadow in fascinating, ever-changing ways that drew the eye. Josephine was, in truth, quite lovely. Had Cassandra been given to envy she might well have been jealous, but as it was she felt only a kind of bemused wonder at the Ambassador’s beauty and comportment.

“I enjoyed our talk over tea very much,” said Josephine a few days later, when they encountered each other by accident in the upper bailey and stopped to exchange a few words. “It is such a relief to escape from my diplomatic duties and have a conversation with no political purposes.”

“I do not know how you endure constantly talking to people,” said Cassandra.

Josephine laughed. “Oh yes, at times it can seem oppressive and unending. It is why I try to ensure that I do regularly converse with others on matters that have nothing to do with diplomacy. It freshens and relaxes my mind. And I enjoy making friends, especially here, where I have no family.”

It occurred to Cassandra, belatedly, that she had been rude. “I enjoyed our conversation as well,” she said a little awkwardly.

Josephine beamed. “I would be delighted to take tea with you again, Lady Cassandra, if you were so inclined,” she said. “Perhaps you might have time tomorrow? In the mid-afternoon, as we did before?”

And so now somehow she had been trapped. Well, there were worse things to be trapped into. “Yes.”

 _I enjoy making friends_ , Josephine had said. Cassandra was not used to making friends, at least not friends as most people saw them; the role of a Seeker was self-contained—some might say isolated—and that of the Right Hand even more so. There were people she was friendly with, but she was rarely close to them. Had Justinia been a friend? Certainly she had been informal in her interactions with Cassandra, and the Seeker had loved her well, but the fact that she was Divine always shaped their relationship: they were _not_ equals, and Cassandra could not relax and pretend that they were. Justinia’s position required respect.

With Leliana things were easier, and the spymaster had become a friend, over the years; they were not overly close, but in some ways they knew each other well. Or at least, she thought, Leliana probably knew her well. They respected each other. Cassandra thought that Leliana liked her, and at times when the spymaster was not challenging her too directly she liked Leliana a great deal, though she was not sure she entirely trusted her. So yes, she thought she could call her a friend.

Unexpectedly, given the circumstances of their introduction, Lavellan treated her as a friend. The Inquisition had unusual attitudes toward personal connections under its Dalish leader; it did not entirely adhere to the formality of relationships that the Chantry and nobility and military usually did. Lavellan made it clear that she valued friendship more highly than respect for her own status, and she did not judge others based on their social position. Cassandra, who had been trained to understand and appreciate military hierarchies, had some difficulty with this, but if she was being truthful with herself she had to admit that Lavellan was a friend, and so were some of the other companions. And so she supposed that Josephine might become a friend as well.

*        *        *

It was not so bad, Cassandra thought a few weeks later, having a friend with whom she could take a few minutes’ relaxation once a week, or even more often. Josephine was an excellent conversationalist and told amusing stories, and did not expect Cassandra to do the same; this was very relaxing, and Cassandra consequently found that telling amusing stories was not entirely beyond her own capabilities. And Josephine was so _appreciative_. She found herself looking forward to their weekly teas, and occasionally casually dropping by the Ambassador’s office at other times to chat for a few minutes. When Josephine suggested that they might call each other by their names, instead of titles, she was pleased to agree.

It was on just such a casual occasion, with nothing in particular to do, that she let her footsteps lead her to Josephine’s door, and found the Ambassador in a state of distraction. It was not their usual day to take tea, but Josephine had been away in Val Royeaux and had only arrived back the day before. She might be too busy to enjoy a refreshment, but it was worth a try; Cassandra had missed their visits while she was gone, much to her own surprise.

In any case, if Josephine was too busy, she would say so. She seemed to have understood from the start that Cassandra would not be offended if she was forthright about needing to work. It was refreshing that they could be honest with each other without worrying about giving offense.

Josephine did not send her away; she greeted the Seeker with pleasure and suggested sharing a pot of tea. But she seemed distracted. After the Ambassador lost her train of thought for the third time, Cassandra set down her cup and said, “Is there something wrong? You seem… upset.”

Josephine blinked at her. “I am sorry, Cassandra. There has been a great deal happening, and it is on my mind. I am afraid I am not good company today.”

“I did not intend to criticize, or to pry,” said Cassandra quickly. “I am only concerned that you are all right.”

The Ambassador looked at her with full attention for the first time, and her face softened. “It is—thank you.” She hesitated, and then said, “You may not be aware of it, but as heir I continue to manage my family’s business affairs, in addition to working as the Inquisition’s Ambassador. Employees of my family were recently murdered, for no apparent reason, and with the Inquisitor’s support I have been looking into it. It seems that an old contract against my family was triggered by my attempt to reinstate Montilyet trading rights in Val Royeaux.”

Cassandra felt something drop in her stomach, settling uneasily. “Are you in danger?”

Josephine hesitated. “It is… complicated. A representative of the House of Repose was the one who explained it to me, as a courtesy; the contract was signed over a hundred years ago, and was instigated by people who are no longer alive. But it is still in effect, yes.”

“Then something must be done!”

“Please sit down, Cassandra,” said Josephine calmly, and only then did she realize that she was on her feet. “I have it all in hand.” Cassandra subsided slowly. “This can all be settled diplomatically; it will simply take a little time.”

Time? Assassins did not put off assassinations for the convenience of their victims. “Are there no other options?”

“There are,” said Josephine, “but I have chosen to deal with the matter in this way. I will not have deaths on my conscience over this.”

 _They could be on someone else’s conscience, surely_ , thought Cassandra a little wildly. She opened her mouth to say so, and then thought better of it. “If there is anything I can do,” she said finally, “you have only to ask.”

“Thank you,” said Josephine. “I appreciate that very much. Now, I brought back some sweets from Val Royeaux that I think you might enjoy; shall we try them?”

Cassandra did not linger after tea a moment longer than courtesy required, and when she left she went straight to Leliana.

“The Ambassador told me about the contract against the Montilyets,” she said with no preamble. “What are you doing about the House of Repose?”

“Nothing,” said Leliana, looking up from her table.

Cassandra stared at her, outraged. “Nothing? How can you do nothing? She is in danger! She—”

“Because it is her decision,” said Leliana. Then her demeanor softened a little. “There is nothing, and then there is nothing. Josephine has chosen to deal with this diplomatically. That does not mean that I am not taking steps to protect her, Cassandra. I have agents watching her.”

“Still—”

“Why are you so concerned?”

Cassandra opened and shut her mouth a few times, at a loss. “Lady Josephine is an important part of the Inquisition,” she said finally.

“Indeed,” murmured Leliana, and bent back to her work.

*        *        *

Cassandra didn’t like it. The whole situation worried her, and the worry nagged in a way that was far too uncomfortable. But it seemed there was nothing she could do about it; Josephine refused to respond to her occasional attempts to discuss the matter, politely but deftly sending the conversation in other directions, leaving her unable to do anything but fret.

And then the day came that she went to Josephine’s office to find bodies being carried away by Leliana’s agents, and the Inquisitor asking what had happened.

“The House of Repose decided to pay a visit,” Josephine was replying. “The guards arrived in time, but I—I should have guessed the assassins would infiltrate the servants.” Her voice was calm, but there was a slight unsteadiness to it.

“Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?” said Lavellan.

“They only frightened me. It was all so sudden. Leliana sent people to shadow me. They appear to have saved my life. I owe you everything, Sergeant.”

“Only my duty, Ambassador,” said the agent who had lingered, turning to go. “I’ll talk with the spymaster about these murderous louts. She’ll find how they got in.” The Inquisitor stayed for a moment longer, ensuring that Josephine was really all right, and then took her leave, giving Cassandra a meaningful look that the Seeker found entirely baffling.

Cassandra had not said a word during all of this: she could think of nothing to say and might as well have been struck dumb. And now she was alone with Josephine; she must say something. The Ambassador was staring at a patch of blood on her expensive carpet. She swallowed and then raised her eyes. “Will you take tea with me, Cassandra?” she said. “I—would like to get things back to normal.” Her voice sounded younger and far more vulnerable than usual, and something inside Cassandra lurched painfully.

And then she did find words, a torrent of them. “You could have been killed!” she shouted. “Did you think that they would take no action while you spent weeks and months in diplomatic maneuvers? This—this is what such foolishness leads to!”

Josephine’s look of vulnerability abruptly disappeared, and she glared at Cassandra; she suddenly seemed to have become inches taller. “I am _quite_ aware of the risks, Seeker.”

“You don’t behave as if you are!”

“Do you really think that I do not understand? I have been groomed to be the head of an Antivan merchant family. I assure you that I understand perfectly.”

“Running a business does not provide the knowledge of how to deal with assassins!”

“Are you really so ignorant, or have you chosen to be so? Do you think merchants do not understand such things? Anyone who trades must understand the Game and how it is played!”

“Then choose the right weapon for your battle,” shouted Cassandra. “This is not your foolish Game! Diplomacy cannot serve when your life is threatened!”

“You do not know what you are talking about. Do you think the Game is always only a matter of _social_ assassination? I play the Game as _you_ do not—because you do not have to,” spat the Ambassador. “Those of us who are not Nevarran princesses do not have the freedom to ignore it!”

“The Game is—”

But Josephine, once started, would not be stopped. “You! You think that every problem must be solved by the sword, that violence is the only solution! If something is dangerous, it must be smashed, it must be destroyed! You see no worth in anything gentler—anything kinder, more graceful—you would smash those things too!”

Josephine was staring at her, her colour raised, her mouth set in a hard line, her eyes furious. The mask of civility—of diplomacy—was entirely gone. Her passion was beautiful, and unstoppable. Cassandra did not have the eloquence to continue to fight, and knew it. Words were Josephine’s weapons, and she could not stand against them. She bowed stiffly and walked out.

 _She thinks I am a maul_ , Cassandra thought dully, later, sitting in her loft, crude and brutal and unthinking. _I had thought she—no. I suppose she is right. I do not have the finer graces. I cannot even be deft with words._

_It usually doesn’t matter._

_Well. If I am only a maul, at least some find that useful. I was Justinia’s to wield, and now I am Lavellan’s. I will be a maul for the Inquisition, and leave more subtle weapons to others._

*        *        *

There were plenty of opportunities to be a maul, if that was what was required. Lavellan was spending a great deal of time on expeditions away from Skyhold, and was happy to take Cassandra with her. And Cassandra was happy to go: when her sword and shield were required she knew how to be of use. It was a relief not to have to think beyond the practicalities of day to day problems in the field. Here she knew her place; she could provide useful advice, she could stand at Lavellan’s back or be at the forefront in breaking an attack. At smashing it.

She could not spend all her time away from Skyhold. But when they were in residence it was generally easy to avoid Josephine: she kept to her loft, the practice yard and the lower bailey for the most part, and stayed away from the Grand Hall where the courtiers and diplomats circulated. She always had, until recently. She caught sight of Josephine occasionally, from a distance, but that was all.

And every time she saw the Ambassador she felt a slipknot tighten in her guts. She had never had many friends. She had lost some of those she cared about to distance, to death. She had lost Galyan to both, in the end. Such things were painful, but unavoidable.

She had never before lost a friend because of irreconcilable differences, to the fury of mutual offense, and did not know how to deal with it. _I could apologize_ , she thought. _There is truth in what she said about the Game; I can ignore it as others cannot, because of my position; she is right that it is not only stubbornness that protects me from the consequences. Though I honestly think that has more to do with being a Seeker than being a princess; Seekers are feared as minor princesses are not._

_No. I still believe she took too great a risk. And clearly she still believes that I am wrong. We would only argue again, and I would not be able to find the right words. It would come down to the same thing: she believes that I trust in nothing but brutality. If she believed otherwise she would have made a gesture, and she has not._

_There is no point._

Leliana cornered her, some weeks later, when they had returned from an expedition to the Exalted Plains and she was sitting at her table replacing a worn strap on her cuirass. The expedition had been both physically and mentally wearing, and she was bone-tired. The dead that walked in those lands were not as disgusting as those that walked in the Fallow Mire, but the _fact_ of their walking still disturbed her on a subtle, gut-deep level. She did not particularly fear them, not as others did—how could she, after her Nevarran upbringing?—but she did not like them. It was one of the reasons Dorian and his spells made her uneasy, though at least he released his dead once the immediate need was passed. The dead should be allowed to rest. It was a matter of respect.

“I have read Lavellan’s reports,” said the spymaster. “The Exalted Plains seem to have fallen into complete and unending chaos, between the Orlesian forces, the Freemen, and all the walking corpses. She seems optimistic about dealing with the problems, at least.”

“We have made some inroads on the undead,” said Cassandra, “and things are better now that the civil war has ended. But yes. To see what has happened there, what still is happening—it is overwhelming. I am glad that the Inquisitor is not disheartened.”

“Mm,” said Leliana. “The war may have ended, but the resentments linger between the different forces there, and they do not cooperate as they should. And then of course there is the added factor of Briala’s people and position to complicate things. There are more talks planned between the factions, and that is complicated enough, but my agents tell me that there are more players and plots than are obvious in these negotiations.”

“Surely that is to be expected,” said Cassandra irritably; “it is the nature of the Game.”

“Of course. But such things are a distraction from more important matters, and that only serves the interests of Corypheus. As long as there is division in Orlais they will not be able to fully support the Inquisition against the Elder One; it is in our interests to promote the resolution of these issues. There will be more talks, and we will send a delegation. Lavellan wishes you to be in our party.” She gave Cassandra a sidelong look. “There will, of course, be more balls.”

Cassandra flinched. “I am not an asset at balls.”

“But you _are_ an asset if there is a need for physical force.”

“I thought you were looking for _diplomatic_ solutions.”

“That is the preference,” said Leliana. “And that is what Josephine is working toward. But not everyone prefers to negotiate through words, and they may be inclined to attempt more forceful approaches. We have demonstrated very clearly that we can and will deal with such tactics; your presence will show that we are prepared to do so again.”

 _I am the Inquisition’s maul_. The Seeker sighed. “All right. You have made your point.”

She had thought the conversation over then, but Leliana was looking at her consideringly. “I think you really have very little respect for diplomacy,” she said.

“It has its place,” said Cassandra grudgingly. “There are times when it will not serve, and we may sometimes disagree about when, but I am aware of its value.”

“Oh?” said Leliana. “That is not the impression you have given Josephine.”

Cassandra froze, and said nothing. She did not want to talk about Josephine with Leliana.

“Josephine,” Leliana was saying, “is an expert in her field. I have known her longer than I have known you, Cassandra. She understands the Game far better than you do.”

“Most people do,” said Cassandra defiantly. “I leave it to them. What I deal with are the consequences of mistakenly assuming that words will always serve.”

“Do you think that Josephine does not understand the consequences of choosing words over force? I may not always agree with her, but I do not make the mistake of assuming she is naive. She thought that you were her friend, and you made your contempt for her choices, her profession, very clear. You hurt her, Cassandra. You will treat her with more respect in the future.”

It was not a request. Nor was it an inquiry, an attempt to find out what had happened from Cassandra’s point of view. Leliana did not care what Josephine had said to Cassandra. She had been friends with Josephine for many years, had recruited her; now she made it clear that she would take the Ambassador’s part in this. Cassandra stared at her, stubbornly saying nothing, until the spymaster left. Well. She had been warned.

She had not meant to hurt Josephine. But she had been upset, and careless with her words, and hurt had been given. The knot in her gut twisted. Perhaps she _should_ apologize.

But hurt had been given in both directions, and a squirming, clawed bundle of something—pride, perhaps—sat up and said _No_.

They went out for a week into the Hinterlands to deal with some issues there, and for the entire week, when she had a moment to think, Cassandra struggled with herself. The work of the expedition was easier than in the Exalted Plains, but by the time they returned she felt as if it had been twice as hard; she was exhausted. They would have only a little time to restock in Skyhold, and then they would be off again, this time to the Storm Coast.

The night before they left Skyhold, she made a decision. _I must apologize_ , she thought. _What Josephine does is up to her, and it is not right to make my apology contingent on hers. I hurt her, and must take responsibility for that._

It should have been easy after making the decision, but it took Cassandra well into the early hours of morning to write a note of apology to the Ambassador, because she could not work out quite what she wanted to say. _It is easier to be a maul, clumsy and violent and wordless_ , she thought wryly, staring at the pile of paper scraps covered with scribbled, rejected words. _If I begin to apologize to everyone I offend the quartermaster will have to triple his orders for ink and parchment_. And then she rubbed her face roughly with both hands, picked up her quill, and began again.

_Josephine,_

_I know that I have given great offense with my words to you. It was not my intention to do so, but intentions do not matter. I think that I have hurt you, and I hope that I can do something to ease the pain I caused. You have the right to determine your own actions. You understand diplomacy as I do not. It is not wrong to choose a path that is peaceful. I apologize without reservation for the things I said._

_Cassandra Pentaghast_

The discarded scraps went into the embers of the forge-fire, causing a substantial flare-up, and then she was finally able to sleep. In the morning, as they saddled up just after dawn, she called a runner and asked the woman to deliver the message to the Ambassador at the beginning of her office hours.

There. It was done.

She had thought that she might feel better afterwards, knowing that part of what rode her was guilt, but she did not. Perhaps it was because she was still so tired. Perhaps it was because the Storm Coast, in its way, was one of the most grindingly difficult places to tolerate, at least in rainy season—and it always seemed to be rainy season when they were there. The wool of the garments they wore beneath their armour kept them warm, but they were always wet, and began to stink of mildew. Armour and weapons required constant attention if one wanted to avoid rust, but there was a shortage of oil, and people became irritable and protective of their resources, their voices harsher and more discordant than usual. Leather became slimy and buckles hard to manage with cold, wet fingers. Nothing ever seemed to dry out overnight, no matter how big a fire the scouts built. And she was sleeping badly.

She lost focus for a moment, following Lavellan through a cave, took a wrong turn, and found herself without backup in a nest of giant spiders. Her shouts brought the others, but not before she had been bitten by the biggest one. The venom had an almost instantaneous effect, leaving her dizzy and staggering, her vision doubling, her stomach roiling, but then the Inquisitor had a bottle against her chattering teeth. She swallowed bitterness and bile, and began to come to herself.

“We’re low on the antidote,” Lavellan was saying to her, one hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I can’t give you more. You won’t die, but you’re going to have a nasty time until it wears off. Let’s get to camp.”

“I will be all right,” Cassandra protested. Her head felt as if it would split in two, her stomach was upset, her leg ached where the spider had bitten her, but at least the double vision was gone. The residual weakness could be overcome.

“It’s late in the day,” said Lavellan, “and we’re not far from the camp the scouts set up yesterday. There is nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

She refused her dinner that night—the smell of food unsettled her stomach even more, and the sound of conversation made her teeth hurt—and limped to the tent she shared with the Inquisitor. She would sleep it off and be better tomorrow.

But Lavellan came into the tent later in the evening, and sat cross-legged on her blankets with an attentiveness that expected a response, and so Cassandra rolled over and looked at her.

“The headache is still bad?”

“It will pass,” said Cassandra.

“A group of scouts arrived a little while ago to replace some of those who have been here longest,” the Inquisitor said. “Blackwall came with them. Those being relieved will be going back to Skyhold tomorrow. I am sending you with them.”

Cassandra sat up abruptly, pushing down a surge of nausea. “That is not necessary. I will be fine.”

“You need a rest,” said Lavellan. “You have been pushing yourself too hard, and it shows. No, listen to me,” she said quickly as Cassandra opened her mouth in outrage, “You do your duty as you always have, but you are worn down. You know this is true; the evidence is that you have gone to your bedroll without eating. Normally by now you would be beginning to feel better.”

It was true, though Cassandra did not want to admit it.

“We will be returning to Skyhold in two weeks in any case, and not going out on expedition again until we go to Val Royeaux,” said Lavellan. “I want you at my side for that, and in good shape. I am sending you back to make sure that happens. Whatever you need to do to ensure that you are ready, Cassandra, do it. Do not overwork yourself.”

What could she say? Lavellan had that look of opaque placidity that meant her mind was made up and would not be changed.

It was a relief, in some ways, to have the whole thing taken out of her hands. She had her orders; she would obey them. She rode out the next day with the scouts. The scouts left her alone for the most part, though they were friendly enough, and she did not feel well enough to attempt small talk. Her leg was swollen and ached where the spider had bitten it. The headache and nausea had not faded as much as they should have; riding was an unpleasant experience. She had little appetite for anything but water and found her food tasteless, but at least her stomach had settled enough that she was able to force herself to eat a little. She longed to reach Skyhold so that she could take another dose of the antidote and shake off the remnants of the poison.

But by the next day she knew that although the spider bite on her leg was still badly swollen and unexpectedly painful, it was not just a question of the lingering effects of the poison; she was actually ill. Her entire body ached. Any sudden movement caused unbearable spikes in her headache. She alternated between a feverish feeling that she was burning up and clammy chills. She was light-headed and muzzy and could barely focus enough to think. There had been an illness circulating in the troops recently; she must have somehow caught it.

By then the scouts had also figured this out. They produced some vile-tasting remedies that they insisted she take, but it made no difference. She grimly sat her horse over the next days, following the sergeant instead of riding at the fore, enduring, determined that she would stay upright long enough to get to her bed, if no longer, and finally they came to Skyhold.

In her loft, she hung armour and weapons in their usual places, determined not to let her illness overwhelm her altogether, but she was not able to manage much else. Getting up the stairs had been a challenge that left her utterly drained. She knew that she should go to the healer, but it would have to wait a little longer. She toed off her boots and crawled between her blankets, unable to find even the strength to undress. There was a flask of water nearby, and a chamberpot; those were the important things. If she could only get warm. She pulled the blankets tighter around herself and shivered.

Leliana appeared a little later; the scouts must have reported to her. Cassandra, drifting in a hazy, uncomfortable not-sleep, opened her eyes when a hand touched her forehead. “You have a fever,” the spymaster said.

“Tell me something I do not know,” Cassandra croaked irritably, wishing Leliana would leave her alone.

She did, for a little time, but then she was back. “Drink this.” Cassandra made an effort to sit up, and managed it, albeit shakily, taking the bottle Leliana offered. It was worse than the concoctions made by the scouts, but at least it had a reassuring familiarity: it was a potion regularly given for fevers, and it had helped her before. She subsided back into her blankets and shut her eyes.

Someone was speaking, and a cool hand had come to rest on her forehead again. She hoped it would stay; it seemed to ease the relentless heat and pressure and pain.

It was a familiar voice. “Maker, she is burning up,” it said.

 _Josephine?_ She tried to speak, but her voice didn’t seem to want to work, and she wasn’t sure if she’d even managed to make a noise. She opened her eyes, but couldn’t focus them properly. The blur of features was hard to make out, but there was blue and gold and dark hair. Josephine must be kneeling on the floor beside her pallet. That was wrong. Josephine was a lady, and should not be kneeling in the dirt of an armoury loft. “The floor is too dirty,” Cassandra said hoarsely.

“This will _not_ do,” said Josephine, sounding outraged. “Why has she not been moved to the infirmary?”

“The infirmary is full,” came Leliana’s reply. “And there are so many courtiers and nobles here at the moment that there are no empty guest rooms. Really, there is no place to move her. In any case, likely she would prefer to stay here. We can arrange to have someone see to her needs.”

The voices continued, but she had stopped paying attention. It was too hard. But then there were hands on her, pulling. They wanted her to get up. All right. She could do that.

But she could not, even with the arms helping. When she took the first step and put full weight on her injured leg, there was a flare of pain that shuddered through her body and seemed to set every nerve on fire, and the leg gave way beneath her. After that she remembered nothing.

Someone was leaning over her, speaking to her. They wanted her to drink something. The Inquisitor had tried to convince her, once, to drink that foul Qunari liquor. Marass-lok. It was like drinking fire that tasted of old boots. She had never drunk it again. She rarely drank much, anyway. One made foolish decisions when drunk. “Look what happened to Cullen,” she said querulously, and turned her face away.

“Cassandra. Can you hear me? Cassandra.”

They were saying her name. Over and over. She opened her eyes. The room swelled and shrank and swelled again. She hurt. She shut her eyes.

“Hold her up,” said another voice, “and I will get this down her.” That was Leliana. What was she doing here? What did she want to “get down?” No. She struggled feebly, but the arms around her were too strong. A hand caught her chin, forced her mouth open. Liquid. She choked and swallowed and swallowed again. The hand holding her chin let go. “There. That will do.”

She was lying against something very soft, very smooth and warm, and someone was stroking her hair very lightly. There was fabric under her cheek, and the smell of roses, and arms around her. “You must sleep, Cassandra,” said Josephine softly in her ear. “It will be better when you wake. Do not be afraid. I will be here if you need me.”

 _Josephine_ , she thought, and fell again into blackness.

*        *        *

She woke slowly, only gradually becoming aware of herself. Her mind felt slow and fuzzy. She thought of opening her eyes, but it seemed like too much effort.

There was no pain. That was different. And with that awareness, consciousness came fully. She opened her eyes.

There were not the usual grimy dark rafters above her. This was a properly whitewashed ceiling. Disturbed, she tried to sit up, and unexpectedly failed. Annoyed by her weakness, she focused herself and tried again, and this time she achieved a sitting position, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed; the effort left her shaky and panting. Sitting, it seemed, was an achievement: she was not at all sure that she could manage the effort of standing. But now she could see properly.

She was in a bedroom. She was wearing a soft, plain nightshirt that was quite unfamiliar to her. The bed had fine smooth sheets and a thick, warm quilt, brightly coloured. There was a vanity with belongings set out, and a wardrobe, and a divan piled with pillows and quilts. There was a faint scent of roses.

She became conscious of her own state. There was a stained bandage on her leg, where the spider had bitten her, larger than the one she had wrapped around it after the attack. She stank of old sweat and illness, and her skin felt sticky and unpleasant. She was certainly not in a state to be in a clean bed in someone else’s room.

A door opened behind her, and she tried reflexively to stand, but she didn’t quite make it. “Cassandra!” said someone, and then Josephine was beside her, her hands on the Seeker’s shoulders, steadying her but also firmly pushing her down. “Get back into bed!” She hesitated, but now Josephine was plumping up pillows so that she could sit up, and she slowly slid her legs back between the sheets.

If she had not, she supposed that Josephine would have physically manhandled her back into bed, and in her current state she could probably not have resisted. But her confusion weakened her as much as her illness, and she lay still as the Ambassador fussed with the bedclothes. “Where am I?”

“You are in my rooms,” said Josephine, tucking the quilt in around her.

“Your rooms!” said Cassandra. She was in Josephine’s bed? The thought made her unexpectedly uncomfortable. She tried to sit up again. “I should not be here.”

Josephine pushed her back, firmly. “You have been very ill, you could not be left alone in your loft, and there was no room in the infirmary.”

“But—” She swallowed. “Where have you been sleeping?”

“On the divan,” said Josephine matter-of-factly. “It is very comfortable.”

“I can’t—”

“Cassandra,” said Josephine, “you almost died.” There was a note of something Cassandra couldn’t identify in her voice. She stared at the Ambassador. “There was a pocket of poison where the spider had bitten you, and the antidote you received was not enough to neutralize it. The wound was mortifying by the time you reached Skyhold. It had to be opened and cleaned, and even since then you have kept our apothecary very, very busy.”

Cassandra could not think of a thing to say. Josephine went on more gently, “The fever has broken now, and you have been healed of the worst of it. But it will take time to recover fully. And until you are a little better, you will stay here, where you can be properly looked after.”

“But—”

“It is not reasonable to ask others to care for you in your loft; it may suit you, but it is not set up for a sickbed.” There was a note of steel in Josephine’s voice, one that meant she would not be moved. Cassandra subsided.

“And now I shall send for some broth,” said the Ambassador. “You have not eaten for some days, and you need to build up your strength.”

“Days?” said Cassandra. “What day is it?”

“Days,” said Josephine, and told her. “Is there anything else you would like? I can send a runner for some of your books.”

“If I could have some water to wash,” said Cassandra hesitantly.

“I will have a bowl sent so that you can wash your face and hands,” said Josephine. “And then the healer will come to see you. If all is well with your wound, as I expect it to be, I will have a bath drawn later. It will make you feel better, I am sure. And now I must return to my duties. Try to sleep as much as you can; the healer says that it is the best thing for your recovery.” And then she was gone.

The broth arrived almost immediately afterwards, and at the scent she felt weak with hunger. She drank it all and wanted more—there was not a lot—but her stomach told her that would not be wise. Later, then.

The washwater came as she finished the broth; Cassandra cleaned her face and hands and body with the washcloth as best she could. It was not a bath, but she felt a little better afterwards, though alarmingly weak and tired from the effort. She sank back into the bed, pushing the extra pillows to the side. The order to sleep was not going to be a difficult one to follow.

The healer woke her, later, come to examine her, removing the bandage on her leg and pronouncing her well on the road to recovery. Her fever was gone. Her leg was no longer swollen. The wound where the spider bite had been opened had closed in response to healing potions, and now there was only a livid scar. “You’ll do,” he said with satisfaction. “But don’t overdo it,” he added severely. “You must give your body time to build back its strength. It would be best if you did nothing but rest for several days.”

 _I will go mad if I do_ , thought Cassandra. “I can go to my own quarters—”

“No,” said the healer. “You should not exert yourself at all during your recovery, and you must allow servants to look after your needs. That is easier here than in your own quarters. I will speak to the Ambassador about this.”

Cassandra gave up. There were books on the bedside table now; Josephine had followed up on her offer, and clearly expected her to stay. And once Josephine had made up her mind, which she certainly had—Cassandra thought she saw the Ambassador’s influence in the firmness of the healer’s orders—it would be impossible to convince her to let Cassandra go back to her loft. Josephine might seem soft and gentle, but when she had taken an absolute position she was as stubbornly immovable as Cassandra herself.

She slept again and woke when Josephine returned to her rooms, late in the day, looking tired. She brought more broth and a little bread, and by the time Cassandra had finished it the servants were setting up a bath by the bed, bringing buckets of water for the tub they had pulled from a corner. When they left, Cassandra swung her legs over so that she was sitting up and contemplated the distance from the bed to the bath and the tremor in her muscles. It was only two or three steps; surely she could manage that?

Josephine did not offer to help her, but she stayed very close as Cassandra shuffled across the floor. But the effort did not make her too dizzy, and if maneuvering into the bath was more difficult she could steady herself on its edge of the tub as she did so. Nothing was going to stop her from getting into this bath.

But now she must disrobe, and she felt an unexpected level of embarrassment at the thought of being naked in front of the Ambassador. Where did _that_ come from? Cassandra was a private person, but not normally at all shy about her body. The women commonly bathed together when out on expedition, and she used the communal baths in Skyhold, and it did not bother her. Her body was her body, and a finely tuned tool, and they were _bathing_ , not ogling each other. Well, perhaps apart from Sera, but even Sera’s occasional lewd comments didn’t bother her.

But now she felt strangely self-conscious, and did not know why. It was ridiculous. She started to pull the nightshirt over her head, became tangled as her weakened arms refused to lift as high as she intended, and grunted in frustration. And then other hands were helping her, pulling the shirt over her head. “There,” said Josephine, carrying it away. “I have a clean shirt for you when you are finished.”

The Ambassador’s knuckles had brushed her bare shoulder, and the place they had touched her felt—she wasn’t sure what the sensation was. She stood for a moment unmoving, and then took careful hold of the sides of the tub and stepped in. She nearly lost her balance in the process, but managed to recover herself, thankfully. It would not do to slop water all over Josephine’s floor.

The bath was the important thing. It was… wonderful. She let herself sink down into the hot water and leaned back against the end and closed her eyes. There was a little oil of roses in the water, and the scent drifted around her.

Well. The point was to get clean. Josephine had set a side table close by, with soap and towels and a washcloth, and Cassandra set about using them. Josephine seemed to be tidying the room, but eventually reappeared by the tub. “Would you like me to help you wash your hair?”

“Thank you,” said Cassandra feebly, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the Ambassador’s efficiency, and unfastened her braid and bent her head as the other woman used the dipper to pour water over her. Josephine handed her a small flask of liquid soap, and she lathered her hair, and then more dippers were ladled over her from a bucket of clean water to rinse. “I expect you will want to soak for a while,” said Josephine afterwards, “but do not let yourself get chilled.”

She did want to soak for a while; the water had cooled a little but was still delightfully warm, and it felt so good. She leaned back and shut her eyes again.

She must have fallen asleep—ridiculous!—because she was slightly startled when Josephine’s voice roused her. “I have changed the bed, so it will be more comfortable for you now. Do you need help getting out?”

“No, I am fine,” said Cassandra, hauling herself with some difficulty to her feet. Josephine handed her an enormous towel; she wrapped herself in it and carefully stepped out onto the mat placed beside the tub. She was slow and clumsy in drying herself, but Josephine, though certainly aware of this, did not offer to help, and Cassandra found herself grateful. There was a clean nightshirt on a nearby table; she pulled it on and got herself back to the bed. She was not sure she could have gotten any further; she was very tired. But she felt much, much better. She thought about re-braiding her hair, and decided that it could wait; there was a tremor in her hands that she was sure would simply frustrate her. She lay back on clean sheets and was instantly asleep.

She woke in the morning to the sound of Josephine rising. It was not yet full light; the Ambassador started her day very early, as Cassandra usually did. She could see Josephine moving about, sometimes silhouetted against the window, sometimes caught by the light of a single candle. There was elaborate lace on the collar and cuffs of her nightgown. _I am glad she did not lend me one of hers_ , thought Cassandra. _She must have known I would not be comfortable wearing such things. I wonder whose this is. Or does she own plain nightshirts as well as fashionable gowns?_

And then Josephine pulled her nightgown over her head and stood there naked, and Cassandra lay transfixed.

The Ambassador was as beautiful naked as clothed in her finest garments. She did not have the body of a fighter; she was not lean and corded like Lavellan or Sera, she was not muscled like Cassandra herself. Even Vivienne, who carefully avoided allowing her body to develop obvious muscles or bulk, was more toned than Josephine. This was logical; the Ambassador spent most of her time indoors, at a desk, though Cassandra knew that she tried to get some exercise when she could, going riding or taking brisk walks. But she was not like the fighters or the mages who accompanied them, the kinds of bodies Cassandra was most familiar with. The differences were interesting. She was soft and curved in ways they were not. Her breasts—

 _I should not be ogling my friend in order to compare the kinds of bodies women have_ , thought Cassandra, and shut her eyes.

When she woke again it was full light, and a servant was bringing breakfast. Josephine was already in the room, and had made tea. “I have eaten already, but I will keep you company for a little while,” she said. “I know that it is very tiresome to be an invalid. I had a bad illness when I was young, and my mother forced me to stay in bed for three weeks. I thought I would go mad. But I have brought your books, and I hope that will help.”

Cassandra awkwardly pushed her pillows into position so she could sit up. “Thank you.” She took the tea Josephine offered, and took a sip. It was her favourite blend, and very good.

“You have not been awake enough for it to become too boring yet,” Josephine was saying. “But as you get better it will become more so. There are paper and writing tools on my desk, if you want them, and a writing tray that you can use in bed; I keep it for times when I am working late and want to be comfortable. Or if you will tell me what you like, I will be happy to get more books from you from the library, or elsewhere. I don’t think the library has many romances,” she said consideringly, “but likely there are those that could be borrowed from others. I know Scout Harding has a few.”

Cassandra felt herself flush. She knew, after the Inquisitor had asked Varric to write an installment of _Swords and Shields_ for her, that her love of romances was hardly a secret, but she was still not comfortable talking about it. “Thank you,” she managed.

“I had never read such stories,” Josephine was saying, “but after I learned that you liked them I did so. Some were truly dreadful, but some were very well written, and I can see what you like about them. The good ones ask us to embrace the best parts of our characters, the parts that are noble and true.”

“You—have read romances?” said Cassandra, entirely disconcerted. _Because you knew that I did?_

“Of course,” said Josephine. “I thought that if you liked them there must be something of value in them, despite their frivolous reputation. I do take issue with some of the things some writers have done—but no, there is not time to talk about that now.” She looked genuinely regretful. “Perhaps later, if you would like to.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra faintly.

“Would you like help with braiding your hair, before I leave?” asked Josephine. Cassandra hesitated. She did not generally like other people touching her hair. But her hands were not steady, and she knew she would be clumsy if she did it herself.

“Thank you,” she said, and Josephine’s nimble, clever hands were at the nape of her neck.

“I used to do this sometimes for my sister,” said the Ambassador. “Ah, she is a nuisance, but sometimes I do miss her very much.” And then she went on to tell a story of some escapade that Yvette had gotten into when she was younger.

Cassandra sat and tried to listen, but kept being distracted by the little tugs on her braid, the brush of fingertips on her neck. She must be very weak and tired indeed, to lose focus so easily. Well, it was only a question of resting, and then she would be herself again.

Josephine reappeared in the late afternoon with several books, mostly romances—”I had Leliana do some _research_ on reading habits and called in a few favours,” she said with satisfaction—and a book of poetry, one Cassandra had read and was very fond of. And then she went to a cabinet and opened it, taking a slim book down from a shelf and thumbing through it. “I think you might enjoy this one as well,” she said.

Cassandra was looking beyond, at the top shelf—Josephine had left the door open, and her eye had been caught by a flash of colour. “What is that you have, above the books?”

Josephine stopped dead and stared at her, and to the Seeker’s astonishment blushed a deep red. “I—” she said, and then stopped. Cassandra had never seen her lose her composure so completely, and was abruptly fascinated.

But then the Ambassador seemed to gather herself together. “When I came to the Inquisition from Antiva,” she said with a certain careful precision, “I wanted to bring a taste of home with me. I—I had a collection of dolls, as a child. I brought some of them with me.”

Dolls? “May I see?” asked Cassandra.

Josephine hesitated, then reached up onto the shelf.

The dolls, set out in a line on the table, were very beautiful. Some were made of wood, some of fine porcelain. Most had been exquisitely painted. Their clothing was very fine, carefully sewn and made with the utmost attention to detail. Cassandra might not have any interest in sewing, but she was certainly able to appreciate craftsmanship. “Did you make their clothing?” she asked.

Josephine blushed even more. “Some of it,” she said.

There was one small one that had clearly been made by an amateur, more crudely carved and dressed than the others. Cassandra picked it up and set it on its feet. “My father made that one,” said Josephine. “And I made the dress. She was the first doll I had, and I was so excited. He asked a servant to make it a dress, but I didn’t like it, and so I sewed one of my own. It was dreadful, but I was so proud of it.”

“That is not this dress?”

“Oh, no!” said Josephine. “That one—well, I kept that dress, because it was the first I ever made. But it was really very ugly. I replaced it with this one when I had more skill.” She had begun to look a little more relaxed.

“I turned all my dolls into dragon hunters and warriors,” said Cassandra. “I tried to sew armour for them. My governess was horrified.”

Josephine began to laugh. “I can only imagine.”

Cassandra had loved her dolls when she was very young: their lovely dresses were an inconvenience, but not an insurmountable impediment to her imagination. But as she had gotten a little older she had grown out of that early affection, probably because she had been so clearly expected to love them in ways that she did not. They had always been a way to tell herself stories; she had never seen a point in simply having dolls as themselves, as objects of beauty. Evidently Josephine’s feelings about them were quite different.

“Tell me about this one,” said Cassandra, picking up another and setting it on its feet. And so Josephine did. Each doll had its story, each had a reason for its costume, and they were surprisingly interesting: these dolls were not simply ornamental.

But there was one wooden doll that would not stand, and Josephine sighed. “That one has a broken leg,” she said. “She will stand if she is propped just right, but not otherwise. I have been meaning to ask Blackwall if he can carve a new leg, as I am particularly fond of her, but there are so many more important things to remember.”

By the time they had looked at each of the dolls Cassandra had become curious. “They are very beautiful. Why do you not set them out to be seen?”

“I—I am overly fond of them,” said Josephine. “Yvette teases me endlessly about my interest in them, because I am no longer a little girl. And it is true that they are frivolous.”

“I think you should ignore Yvette,” said Cassandra, feeling suddenly annoyed. “If they make you happy, that is the important thing. The things that give us pleasure give us the strength to stand against the things that are hard.”

Josephine looked at her for a moment. “Perhaps you are right. Yes, I am sure that you are. I will find a better place for them.” And then she handed Cassandra the small book she had taken down earlier and set aside during their exploration of the dolls. “Poems are good reading when you are unwell,” said Josephine, “as they are short enough to be finished even when you find it difficult to stay awake for long, and are crammed with so many things to think about. This one is by an Antivan writer I like; she is not well known elsewhere, but has a very good reputation in our homeland. But for now, you have begun to look very tired; I think you need to rest. And I have a little more work that I must do before the day ends.” And Cassandra found that she was very tired indeed, and fell asleep as soon as Josephine left.

It was a book of love poetry, she discovered later. Well, not all of it was love poetry, but quite a bit was. Josephine had evidently taken careful note of her tastes when she had gone to retrieve books from her loft. It was a little unsettling to such competence applied to the minor problem of keeping the Seeker from being bored.

By the end of the second day Cassandra had recovered a good deal; she was able to dress and sit up at Josephine’s table, and walk a little distance, and the healer had pronounced her to be mending very well. “Another three days and you may return to your own quarters,” he said; “but not before that. I do not want to waste my time dealing with a relapse.”

She was not as bored as she had expected to be. She was normally a poor patient, irritable and far too willing to take her annoyance out on others, but she tried not to do so with Josephine, who was being so kind to her. She did not want to upset the Ambassador in any way. Neither of them had said anything about the hiatus in their friendship; it was as if it had not happened. Ignoring their estrangement made Cassandra a little uneasy, but it did not seem like a good idea to bring up such a difficult topic when Josephine had been forced by circumstance to accept her as a guest in her quarters.

It was not as difficult to stay even-tempered as it might have been. At first she slept a great deal, and when she did not she had the books, and occasionally someone visited her. Leliana came by once each day, though whether for concern for her or to ensure that she was not upsetting Josephine Cassandra was not certain. The spymaster did not chide her directly again, but did let drop that the matter with the House of Repose had finally been settled in Josephine’s favour by diplomatic means; the contract had been annulled, and the Montilyets would again be able to trade in Orlais. Cassandra felt a weight she had not been aware of lift.

Josephine took breakfast with her, and the midday meal, and supper, and sometimes came mid-morning or mid-afternoon for tea as well. She found that the Ambassador’s company drove away a good deal of her bad temper. In the evenings Josephine, having embarked on a study of romances, was delighted to discuss them, and did so with gusto. She was endearingly passionate about her opinions, and they had several excellent arguments on minor points while happily agreeing on the major.

It all could have been much worse.

Of course, once she was doing better, it was more frustrating to be confined and required to rest, despite Josephine’s attentions. There was only so much reading one could do before it became tiresome, even when one loved reading and rarely got enough time for it. She was used to activity, and the lack of it chafed.

There were a few things she could do to break the boredom. Early in her recovery she began to prepare the mid-morning and mid-afternoon tea herself, rather than waiting for Josephine. That occupied a little time, and was calming in its rituals.

Josephine had a nightgown that needed mending, the lace at the throat having caught on a ring while she was disrobing on the second evening. She had set it aside with a sigh, saying that she would mend it later when she had time, but had not done anything with it yet. Cassandra had always hated anything to do with sewing, but her governess had taught her the basics of lacemaking when she was young—at least the simplest kind—and she had spent many resentful hours at it. She asked the servant for needles and thread and set about repairing the lace. The results were not expert, but she thought they were acceptable.

The nightgown was soft and smooth and smelled very slightly of roses, as Josephine did.

The other repair work was easier: that was a task that Cassandra had no qualms about taking on, as she could do no harm by making the attempt. She sent a message to Blackwall, who provided her with wood, a leather apron, and a whittling knife, and it did not take long to fashion a new leg for the unfortunate doll. She worked only when she knew Josephine was unlikely to come to her rooms, put the wood shavings into the fire, and hid her tools. _I want it to surprise her_ , she thought, and was not certain why.

She was not an expert carver, but she whittled sometimes to entertain herself when travelling alone, and was reasonably competent. She took great care to mirror the shape of the whole leg and smooth the wood as best she could. It was not painted, but that could be done later, and the difference was hidden by the doll’s clothing. In the meantime, at least the doll would be able to stand with the others. She finished it on the last day she spent in Josephine’s quarters, set the doll back in its place, and was content.

“I suppose that you will want to return to your loft tomorrow,” said the Ambassador that evening, after the healer had visited again and pronounced her well recovered. “Are you certain that you are well enough?”

 _It would not be so bad to take another day here_ , thought Cassandra, feeling an odd pang. But no. She was sleeping in Josephine’s bed, and Josephine was sleeping on the divan. It would not be fair to stay if she did not need to. “I will be fine,” she said.

“Will you wait until after the midday meal?” said Josephine. “I have things I must do in the morning, but after that I will be free to assist you in moving back.” And after Cassandra agreed, she turned the conversation to other subjects.

Cassandra finally succumbed to her curiosity and asked Josephine whose nightshirts she had been wearing; by then she had seen Josephine in different nightgowns, and it was very clear that the plain nightshirts were not hers. “I have no idea!” Josephine said, laughing. “I asked a servant to bring one from your quarters, but Leliana said then that you did not wear them, and that she would find something. You will have to ask her.” And then she looked at Cassandra sidelong. “I would never have guessed that you were so daring as to sleep in nothing, Seeker! What if there was a fire?”

“It is hardly likely, with stone walls,” said Cassandra, feeling her cheeks flame, and Josephine giggled, looking pleased with herself.

Josephine did not take a mid-morning break with her the next day, and Cassandra found the time passed slowly. She felt irritable and unsettled and was not sure why. She was finally returning to her own quarters; she should be relieved. And she was, except for some niggling frustration that she couldn’t quite understand.

But the Ambassador appeared at midday, and they had a very pleasant final meal together. “I owe you great thanks for your kindness, Josephine,” Cassandra said finally, as they were finishing the last crumbs of the apple tart they were sharing between them. “You have inconvenienced yourself enormously to care for me here.”

“Nonsense,” said Josephine briskly, standing to clear the dishes to a side table. “It has been no trouble at all; I have enjoyed your company.”

“And I have enjoyed yours,” said Cassandra; “but you gave up your bed, and allowed me to disrupt your routines, and that is no little thing.”

“The divan is perfectly comfortable,” said Josephine, with a smile. “Though I will admit it is not so large, if one wishes to roll over in the night. I almost fell off it more than once! But come, let us put your things together, and then I will walk you to your quarters. It is not that I do not _trust_ you, but I want to be sure that you are properly capable of the stairs.”

The stairs were manageable, though Cassandra was somewhat short of breath at the top, and sat down on a chair gratefully. Tomorrow she would begin to exercise properly—she had done a little in Josephine’s quarters, furtively, knowing that the Ambassador would chastise her if she thought Cassandra was pushing herself too hard—and it would get better. She knew her own body well enough to know that from this point her recovery would be quick.

Josephine set the books she carried on the table and looked around. “Are you sure…”

“I will be fine,” said Cassandra defensively. Her quarters seemed both comfortingly familiar and unusually bleak.

“I will leave you, then,” said Josephine. “But may I check in on you this evening, after you have taken your supper?”

“Of course,” said Cassandra, suddenly feeling more cheerful. And Josephine smiled at her and was gone.

A little later Cassandra made her way down to her bench in the training yard, to sit in the sun and read; she had been inside for far too long. The reading was intermittent, and she made little progress, because she kept being interrupted by people who wanted to talk to her. A surprising number expressed their pleasure that she was on her way to recovery; it was rather gratifying.

Whether she accomplished much reading or not, it was pleasant to sit in the sun after the days inside; the warmth felt good. She called a runner crossing the yard and asked them to arrange with the kitchens to have dinner sent to her quarters; she had considered taking her meal in the tavern, but after her exertions and the many interruptions thought it advisable to spend a quieter evening. Perhaps tomorrow.

She had just finished her supper when Josephine appeared on her stairs; she had been feeling very tired, but this roused her. Josephine accepted her invitation to sit and take some wine with apparent pleasure. They talked in a desultory manner about Josephine’s day and some of the more amusing interactions she had endured with courtiers. The Ambassador had evidently seen Cassandra in the yard, or been told of it, and examined her closely on her well-being after the excursion, accepting Cassandra’s assurances that the effort had not greatly fatigued her. They argued a little about a book they had both read and had different interpretations of, which was very enjoyable.

“Well, you are probably tired,” said Josephine eventually, standing, “and I should leave you to rest.” And then she hesitated, looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself. “Cassandra,” she said finally, “we have not spoken of the disagreement that affected our friendship after the House of Repose tried to assassinate me. But you sent me a note of apology, before your injury. I—I was offended by what you said, it is true, but I accept your apology without reservation. And… I owe an apology as well. The truth of it is that I was frightened, and that made me angry, and it was easy to be angry with you, because you were there, and challenging me. I was afraid, and it made me want to strike out and hurt you. In my anger I said things to you that were cruel and unforgivable—and untrue. There is far more to you than violence and brutality. I am very, very sorry for the pain I caused you.”

Cassandra swallowed. “Thank you,” she said finally. “I—thank you. I accept your apology.”

“I had thought of saying something before you sent your note, because I knew that I had been unfair,” said Josephine, “but I was still angry, and clung to my anger. ‘She does not deserve an apology unless she apologizes first,’ I thought. I thought only of my own pain. But you had been hurt as well, and still thought of me. It was an honourable thing to do.”

Cassandra could feel her ears burning, and felt thoroughly uncomfortable. But Josephine had not finished.

“I have long known how honest and honourable you are, and how that drives your actions,” she said, “but it is not the only thing, is it? You are a _kind_ woman. I have only just begun to realize how much of what you do is from kindness.”

This was not only embarrassing, but baffling. What on earth was she talking about?

“I found the doll you repaired,” said Josephine.

Oh.

“I had thought that the servants were being particularly helpful lately, but that was not something a servant would do. So I asked Lisara about it, and she told me how you had worked on it. And she told me that there were other things you had done, that I had not realized. I might have guessed that you would prepare the tea,” she said with a glint in her eye, “but I certainly would never have suspected the repairs to the lace. You are a woman of many hidden talents, it seems.”

“That is the fault of my governess,” Cassandra muttered, staring at the table.

“Then despite your evident feelings about her, I must be thankful for her perseverance,” said Josephine, sounding amused. And then she said, “Cassandra,” in a more serious tone, and Cassandra finally looked up at her. Josephine had taken a step forward, and was within arm’s reach. Cassandra could smell roses. The Ambassador had an indecipherable expression on her face. “Thank you,” said Josephine quietly. “Thank you for your kindness, but also for your friendship. I value it very highly.” And she reached out and touched Cassandra’s cheek.

 _I want to kiss you_ , thought Cassandra. And jolted violently.

Josephine pulled back quickly. “I’m sorry. That was very forward of me. I—”

“It’s all right,” said Cassandra, her mouth dry. “I was only startled. I—I also value your friendship.” And then she could think of nothing else to say.

It must have been enough, because now Josephine was smiling. “I will leave you to sleep,” she said, and was gone.

Cassandra sat at her table, unmoving, feeling half stunned. Her thoughts skittered and slipped; she tried to pin them down and lost her grip, tried again. _Be calm_. It occurred to her that she had an excellent Antivan— _Antivan_!—brandy, and she found the bottle and poured herself a precisely calculated measure, and made herself take a small sip, thinking carefully about exactly how it felt in her mouth, her stomach. That settled her a little. She tried to focus her thoughts, feeling as if she was a hunter stalking a particularly elusive and evasive prey. _Be calm_.

 _I am not attracted to women._ She never had been, not in the least. _Perhaps it was simply because I care for her as a friend._ But her reaction to Josephine’s touch put the lie to that: she had responded physically, and that response had been intense.

_I wanted her._

_I still want her, now._

Well. It seemed that she was attracted to women, after all. Or at least to one particular woman. That was… surprising, and a little upsetting.

It was not the fact that she had reacted to Josephine that upset her; that was startling but not distressing. But she liked things to be simple and clear, and did not much like engaging in prolonged introspection; she had settled her mind about who she was long ago and was happy in her own skin. _I thought I knew myself!_

Cassandra rarely spent time worrying at problems. She looked at them, determined what action to take, and took it. She did not fuss about what-ifs. She made a decision and followed it. If the decision was wrong she accepted it and dealt with the consequences. There was no benefit to be found in constantly second-guessing herself. But now…

 _All right_ , she thought. _I am attracted to Josephine. But that does not mean I should do anything about it. I do not have to do anything about it. I should not do anything about it. I do not even know if she is attracted to women; we have never spoken about such personal things. I know that she regards me as a friend. That is what is important._

A bevy of new courtiers arrived the day after Cassandra returned to her own quarters, and for a few days she saw very little of Josephine, who was of course responsible for dealing with them. This was a relief; she found herself not wanting to face the Ambassador while her nerves were so askew.

Josephine sent a note by runner on the second day:

_My dear Cassandra,_

_I must apologize for abandoning you so precipitously, but the arrival of Celene’s delegates has created quite a degree of diplomatic upheaval in several ways. I hope that you are well and continuing to mend, and I look forward to taking tea with you when things settle again._

_Yours, JM_

She sent a reply back by the same runner. It was awkward but it would do; Josephine would not expect eloquence from her.

_Thank you, I am recovering well and quite understand your situation. I look forward to tea with you when you have time._

_Cassandra Pentaghast_

There. That was done. And by the time they took tea together again, she would doubtless have found a way to be more settled in herself. She had made a decision, after all. She would do nothing about this attraction to the Ambassador. It would be a very bad idea to do anything. And it was not as if she could think of anything to do about it, anyway.

Deciding to do nothing, however, did not calm her in the way it should have. She found herself worrying at her own reactions, trying to understand them, understand why this had happened now when it had never happened before, and then stopping herself from worrying in annoyance. It was not _relevant_. She also found herself unnervingly aroused. It was not sexual arousal—though if she was honest with herself that was certainly part of it—this was a kind of constant elevated alertness in her senses. It was both energizing and exhausting.

She threw herself into her exercises, determined to build up her strength as quickly as she could. It would not be long before they went to Val Royeaux, and she needed to be in condition for that. If there was the added benefit of exhaustion putting her to sleep more quickly, well, that was not the reason she was doing it.

The Inquisitor had returned to Skyhold two days after the delegation arrived, and was as busy as Josephine, but she had made time to check in on Cassandra immediately after her arrival. “Leliana sent word of your illness by raven,” she said, “and also of your recovery, but I want to see for myself that you are better. You had me worried, Cassandra.” She meant it; there was deep concern in her eyes.

“I am fine,” said Cassandra, touched by this evidence of affection. There had been a few awkward moments with Lavellan when she had realized that the Inquisitor had some degree of interest in her, but the Dalish hunter had accepted her refusal gracefully and had neither pined nor held the refusal against her. And now Lavellan had found a romance with Sera; Cassandra could not understand it herself, but was happy for her friend. “I have been training, and although I am not yet at full strength I am recovering quickly.”

“Good,” said Lavellan. “I know you are not eager, but I want you with me when we go to Val Royeaux, if it is possible.”

“I will be there,” said Cassandra firmly.

“I will be riding into the Hinterlands the day after tomorrow, to see to a few things,” said the Inquisitor. “I do not expect it to be a hard trip. Will you be well enough to go with me? Be certain before you agree.”

Suddenly the thought of leaving Skyhold seemed overwhelmingly attractive, and Cassandra found herself longing to go, to escape. But she hesitated. _Will I be strong enough? She trusts me to know my limits. Is the desire to go overrunning my good sense? No. I can do it_. “I will be fine.”

 _I have been confined here for too long_ , she thought after Lavellan left her. _That is all_.

*        *        *

It was a relief to get out in the field again, free of the high stone walls and dark corridors, to have light and air and be able to move in any direction. She had not misjudged herself; she was dreadfully tired by the evenings, but it was manageable, and each day she was a little stronger. They dealt with mundane things; a few diplomatic chores, a few errands along the way that the Inquisitor had agreed to do simply from kindness. Leveraging connections, following up on actions taken previously, whether for the direct benefit of the Inquisition or not. There were a few wolves to dispose of, and once or twice unfriendly bears. Such battles were inconsequential, but Cassandra threw herself into them with enthusiasm, and despite being somewhat breathless at the end felt as if her strength was pouring back into her.

She did not think of Josephine. At least, she only thought of Josephine at night, when there was nothing else to distract her. She tried, unsuccessfully, not to think about Josephine’s skin, her hands, her smile, her— At least she was good at setting distracting thoughts aside, eventually, so that her sleep was not significantly disturbed. _I do not have to do anything_.

By the time they returned to Skyhold she felt entirely herself again. There would only be one full day there before they set out for Val Royeaux and the negotiations with Celene. Things had already been organized for the trip, so they really only needed enough time to replenish supplies, and of course Lavellan needed to have a meeting with Cullen and Leliana.

Josephine was gone. She had left three days before, to confer with her diplomats, settle in the Inquisition’s apartments in Val Royeaux, and prepare for the Inquisitor’s arrival. Of course she had. But it had not occurred to Cassandra that she would go ahead, and she found herself surprisingly upset. She had decided that she would say nothing to Josephine about her feelings, certainly not now; she would wait and see if they persisted and think about it later if they did. There were other things that were more important—dealing with Corypheus, for example.

But having made the decision not to speak of her feelings, she found herself unable to imagine what else she could say to Josephine in casual conversation. It was ridiculous. For months she had found conversation with the Ambassador easy; why should that change? She had thought that travelling together to Val Royeaux would be a chance to find her balance again. There would be others around, so there would be little opportunity for truly private conversations. The travelling itself, the lands they passed through and the people they met, the character and activities of those who accompanied them, would provide plenty of safe things to talk about. But it was not to be, and she found herself thrown into confusion once again by the affront to her expectations.

It was ridiculous.

At least the bustle of activity when they finally arrived mitigated her awkwardness. Josephine, having greeted the Inquisitor, brightened noticeably when she spotted the Seeker, impulsively taking her hands and saying, “Cassandra! I am so glad to see you looking so well!” But she was interrupted almost immediately, and so the fact that Cassandra was inconveniently dumbstruck was almost not noticeable.

Val Royeaux was as Val Royeaux always was, bright and glorious and deadly. The earlier events at Halamshiral had been a settling of conflicts, but in the Game nothing was permanent—except possibly death—and there were always maneuvers and adjustments for advantage that could be made. As Right Hand Cassandra had refused to play the Game, but she not been able to avoid it entirely; at the least she had to be aware of the machinations that surged around the Divine, and understand how to counter them. Now she held no official position and had a misanthropic reputation, and those things stood her in good stead: some attempts were made to ensnare her, but they were half-hearted at best, and easily avoided. She spent most of her time with the Inquisitor, or when that was not necessary, exploring former haunts. She made a few purchases, talked with a few old friends. It was not unpleasant.

The negotiations settling and formalizing some of the arrangements that had been made after the excitement of the Winter Palace largely related to form, Lavellan told her with a sigh; the important decisions had already been made, and these dealings simply allowed the participants to demonstrate and consolidate their power and authority in delicately balanced ways. It was necessary, but not truly important, except to the Orlesians.

Josephine, of course, was in the thick of it. Cassandra, watching an exceptionally skilled juggler perform for the entertainment of the nobles at a diplomatic event, thought that it was exactly what the Ambassador did: tossing a multitude of items into the air, keeping them all going in a flowing balance despite their complexity and disparity. She had never thought of it quite like that before, and the realization of Josephine’s skill bemused her a little.

There was, of course, a ball held at the culmination of the negotiations. That was entirely predictable: it was a chance to flaunt power and attempt to make adjustments to it; in this case the adjustments would only be minor, and designed to produce future advantage rather than change the course of current events.

Cassandra put on the Inquisition uniform and sighed. At least it looked well on her; the same could not be said for all of the Inquisition’s members. She could probably have worn her formal Seeker garb instead—Vivienne had refused absolutely to wear the uniform this time, and ordered a new dress, and so had Leliana—but she would be standing by Lavellan for most of the event, and this would be more appropriate.

The entire evening was tedious, but there were no disasters, no unexpected attacks. It was all very predictable, and by the end of it Cassandra was thoroughly bored and irritable, and found herself watching Josephine far more than she should have. Josephine had also chosen not to wear the uniform, but her dress echoed it, being the same rich red, accented with gold embroidery and elaborate ruffles, in a style that was not _quite_ the current fashion but made a firm, individual statement on it: _I understand what is required, but have the power to choose otherwise_. She looked magnificent.

And this time she danced. Not a great deal; she still had to pay attention to diplomatic matters. But the matters being dealt with were not so critical as they had been at the Winter Palace, not so dangerously balanced on a knife-edge, and so there were more social opportunities for the Inquisition’s advancement available, and she took them.

Perhaps they were not all simply opportunities for advancement. There was a particular Orlesian noble, someone Cassandra did not know, who danced with her _twice_. That indicated either a longstanding friendship or a significant interest, and Cassandra, who did not know which it was, simmered with resentful agitation.

By the early hours of the morning she was almost beside herself. _What is wrong with me? I am not some foolish youth to claim ownership of another’s time. I have no right to forbid Josephine’s enjoyment of others; even if we were together, I would have no right. Who she dances with is her decision, not mine, and that is exactly as it should be_. She made an effort to relax her aching jaw, and thought, _But if we were together I would not care if she spent time with others, for I would know—_ She stopped that thought immediately.

“You should ask Josephine to dance,” said Lavellan, pausing to lean on a balustrade beside her. Cassandra stared at her. “I know you don’t much enjoy it,” said the Inquisitor, almost apologetically, “but it would give her a little relief from the pressures of diplomacy to dance with a friend who is not playing the Game with her.”

“She has been dancing with friends,” said Cassandra, baffled. “She danced with Dorian and Leliana and Bull.”

“That does not add up to much,” said Lavellan severely. “You know perfectly well that Leliana was passing on information to her when they danced. And dancing with Josephine would give you something to do. You have been fidgety all night, and now you are _looming_.” And then she drifted away.

It was not an order. But perhaps she _should_ ask Josephine to dance. She had offered once before, and been refused; perhaps she would be refused again. Perhaps Josephine would not want to dance with her. That thought made the knots in the bottom of her stomach tie themselves into nug’s fists and bump into each other uneasily.

No. She would not be a coward. If Josephine refused her, so be it. She squared her shoulders and went to find the Ambassador.

Josephine was in a corner, speaking with Dorian about fashion, and she smiled warmly at Cassandra when the Seeker approached, which made her feel marginally better. Dorian, of course, could not resist teasing her. “Ah,” he said, breaking off a dramatic soliloquy about embroidery, “and here is our stern Seeker, who has been surveying our frivolity with even greater disapproval than usual all evening.” Had she truly seemed so unusually forbidding? Well, it would explain why she had not been pestered much. “Have you come to ask the Lady Ambassador to dance, Seeker?”

“Yes,” said Cassandra, and felt herself flush violently.

For once Dorian seemed at a loss for words; he simply gaped at her. Then he gathered himself together, bowed deeply to both of them, said, “Then I am certainly an extra wheel on the wagon! I shall go and find Bull and see if he has acquired a good bottle for us to share.” And walked away, humming.

Josephine had not said a word as he made his exit, but her eyes had widened when Cassandra spoke. Now she turned to the Seeker and said, “Did you truly mean to ask me to dance, Cassandra? Or did you only mean to startle Dorian? You do not have to—”

“I came to ask you to dance,” said Cassandra. She was not sure if she was flushed or absolutely white; she felt as if whatever regulated her internal temperatures had gone completely askew, and was alternately hot and cold.

“Then I will accept with pleasure,” said the Ambassador. “Give me just a moment.” She stepped away, beckoning to a servant, whispered in their ear, and returned to Cassandra, looking satisfied. The servant went to the musicians, who had just finished playing for an elaborately complex dance that was apparently very new and popular, and whispered to one of them. There was a moment’s consultation, and then they struck up the notes for an old dance. It was the one that had been played at Halamshiral all those months ago, the one that had been in fashion many years ago and was still well-loved. There was a murmur of pleasure and a good number of couples stood to join the dancers who were already on the floor.

“Do you wish to lead, or shall I?” said Josephine to Cassandra.

“I can lead,” said Cassandra hoarsely. She might not know many dances, but although her governess had only taught her the woman’s part, the Seekers had insisted that she learn both, as even if it was rarely needed, the application of diplomacy might require the knowledge. “But I am probably a little rusty.”

“We will be fine,” said Josephine, and held out her hand.

Cassandra led her onto the dance floor. For a moment she could not think of what to do beyond that, but then her training kicked in and she remembered. She bowed, Josephine curtseyed, and she set her free hand on Josephine’s waist and felt Josephine’s hand settle on her shoulder, and she began to move in the patterns she had learned so long ago.

It was a good thing that her muscles remembered what to do, because certainly her mind was not properly engaging. _Josephine_ , she thought. _Dancing. Josephine_. That seemed to be all the coherency she could muster. She was stiff and awkward at first, but then began to find her footing and the rhythm of the music, and as she did she felt Josephine begin to relax as well, and the Ambassador moved a little closer.

It was an offer. This was a dance that could be performed formally, at arms-length, but it did not have to be. Dancing closely demonstrated the skill of the dancers, and so even those who were not good friends or lovers often chose to do so. It was very late, or very early, and many people were dancing closely.

And Josephine seemed to wish to do so as well. Well, it had been a long time and she _was_ rusty, but this was something Cassandra was capable of. She gave the smallest, most tentative signal that she accepted the offer, just a little pressure on the Ambassador’s waist, and her partner moved closer still.

Josephine’s hand rested lightly in hers. Josephine’s back was warm under her other hand, the smoothness of satin and the texture of embroidery and the shifting and movement of the long muscles beneath them. Josephine’s body was not pressed against hers, but there were constant touches, and Cassandra had to suppress an urge to pull her even closer. _Josephine_. She looked down and saw that Josephine’s eyes were closed, her face solemn and quiet. The scent of roses was dizzying. Warmth, softness, movement. Touching.

 _Josephine_.

When the dance ended the Ambassador stepped back from her, but slowly, and smiled. She was a little flushed, or was it simply the light? It was hard to tell; her face was partly in shadow. Her eyes were very dark, glinting in the light of the candles. Cassandra could not find a thing to say. Josephine still held her hand, and all she could think about was the feeling of Josephine’s fingers against hers.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” said Josephine softly, finally releasing her hand, and Cassandra, wordless, bowed.

 _Josephine_.

And then someone swept up, one of Celene’s most important courtiers, wanting the Ambassador’s attention on a matter, and she was pulled away, casting an apologetic look back.

Cassandra turned and walked off the dance floor and out onto a balcony. She needed air. She needed—she needed things that were impossible. Maker, she should never have danced with Josephine. She had no idea what Josephine thought about her, none. Likely she only thought of Cassandra as a friend. Why would she think of her as more? _She wanted to be close to you when you danced_ , said a stray, traitorous thought.

But dancing closely was a demonstration of skill, and Josephine was a very skilled dancer. _It means nothing. She danced closely with others as well. That damned Orlesian she danced with twice, for example. And Leliana. Although of course in that case dancing closely meant that Leliana could whisper information in her ear. But I wasn’t trying to speak to her._

_She didn’t say a word when she danced with me. Not one word. Perhaps she had nothing to say._

Or perhaps she was simply being cautious. Or enjoying the moment.

There was no way to know. _I cannot stay here_ , Cassandra thought violently; even the cool night breezes could not help her find enough air to fill her lungs. She would return to the apartment she shared with Leliana. Josephine had several people around her now, but her eyes caught Cassandra as she passed, and lingered for a moment. _Could she—_

_Do not think about it._

She sat on her bed and stared at the floor, feeling no better than she had on the balcony. She was not good at romance. Oh, she loved her books, but she had difficulty in translating love stories to real life, where the plot did not flow in such conveniently helpful directions. In books the impediments thrown up by the writers were complicated, but resolved themselves simply; real life did not seem to do that. She thought Josephine might feel some attraction to her, but she was not certain. There were so many other possible explanations for her behaviour. And how to find out? _I suppose I could go to her_ , _and say, “Josephine, are you attracted to me?”_ she thought glumly. _Such crude bluntness would be expected of me, at least by most. But I do not think I could bring myself to do that._

And even if this attraction was mutual—no. She must not think so hopefully. There was no future in it. Josephine was her family’s heir. She would be expected to marry—no, she _must_ marry—in a way that would further the Montilyet interests. She must produce heirs of her own, and that was something Cassandra could not give her. There could be no future between them, even if such inclinations were shared. Josephine would never abandon her responsibilities to her family.

_And I cannot give myself knowing that it would only be for a little while, that I would be replaced. That someone else must stand beside her in life, if not in her heart. No. It is impossible._

*        *        *

Even if she had wanted to bluntly ask Josephine about her feelings, there would have been no opportunity before they left to return to Skyhold. There was no privacy in Val Royeaux, where they all shared rooms and ears were always listening. And Josephine gave her no clues; she was as friendly as ever, but not unusually so. No one watching her would have suspected any degree of affection beyond friendship. But then, they were in Orlais, where true affection was regarded as a weakness; Josephine would be careful. Cassandra fretted and chafed and became so bad-tempered that the Inquisitor remarked on it, saying that she was surprised that Cassandra had ever survived the provocations of Val Royeaux when she had lived there as the Right Hand.

“Most Holy sent me elsewhere to do her work a great deal of the time,” said Cassandra shortly. “I was here no more than I had to be.”

“I’m sure that was a great relief,” murmured Lavellan, and Cassandra wondered exactly whose relief she was referring to, and became even more irritated.

Once they were on the road and the Game was no longer of concern, you would think things would be easier, but in some ways there was even less privacy. She _still_ did not know what Josephine was thinking. There was no way to know. The Ambassador was as she always was, friendly and affectionate. It drove Cassandra mad.

 _Why does it_ matter _to me? I have decided that such a thing cannot be._

But it did matter.

When they reached Skyhold and their lives fell back into their normal patterns, it still mattered, despite Cassandra’s attempts to convince herself that it should not. And she still did not know what Josephine thought about her, or if she felt anything beyond friendship. They resumed their habit of taking tea together every few days as if they had never stopped. It was comfortable and delightful and entirely unenlightening. Josephine behaved as she always had. The only difference now was that Cassandra had become excruciatingly aware of every time Josephine touched her, and as Josephine was Antivan and demonstrative, that was altogether too often for her peace of mind.

Varric had not gone to Val Royeaux, but he had heard about it from Dorian. Specifically, he had heard that the Seeker had danced with the Ambassador, and he could not have been more evilly delighted than if he had arranged it himself, as Cassandra discovered one evening over a game of Wicked Grace. “So,” he drawled, “I hear that our Seeker danced with Ruffles here at a ball in Val Royeaux. Now if I’d put that in a story no one would believe me.”

Josephine gave him a calm look. “Your readers have little imagination, then.”

“Some things would strain anyone’s imagination,” he retorted. “But still, there are possibilities. Maybe I _should_ write about it.”

Cassandra stared at him in horror, and then schooled her face into a scowl, unable to think of a response. Luckily Josephine was not dumbstruck in the same way.

“Really, Varric?” she said. “Surely your readers will find little of interest when there is not a murder happening.”

“No no,” he said, “think of the romance of it! The beautiful, elegant Ambassador! The strong, dark, and silent Seeker! I’m assuming you were silent, Seeker. It would have been a shame if you spoiled things by opening your mouth. Anyway, I can always attach a murder.”

“It could be your own,” growled Cassandra, finally finding her voice.

“Nah, boring,” he said. “Let me see… the budding relationship, with the awkward Seeker asking the Ambassador to dance because she is otherwise unable to express her passion and devotion clearly; the shy Ambassador—”

Josephine let out a peal of laughter. “Shy? Varric, I know that you stretch reality, but now you have come up with something that is truly unbelievable. No Ambassador can afford to be shy.”

“It’s a narrative device,” he said defensively. “The Ambassador is only shy in matters of the heart.”

“Nonsense,” said Josephine decisively, and the conversation devolved into a discussion of the characteristics of diplomats.

He would not write it, Cassandra was sure. He would not dare. She would kill him if he did. She sat there, hot and cold and wordless, grateful for Josephine’s intercession and his subsequent distraction.

Did Josephine’s deflection of Varric mean she wanted to protect Cassandra from his teasing? If so, it was a kind action, and it meant that she felt warmly toward the Seeker.

It did not exclude the possibility that she felt even more than warmly.

Or did Josephine genuinely think the whole suggestion of a romance between them was nonsense, impossible? That… was not so happy a thought, and unsettled Cassandra for days afterwards. Which was ridiculous, since she had decided herself that a romance was impossible.

Leliana rarely came to the games of Wicked Grace, but always seemed to hear about anything interesting that happened at them. Cassandra had assumed that Josephine told her. But she did not think that Josephine would have told her about this; Josephine would have known that Varric’s prodding would have upset Cassandra, and would not find that amusing.

Still, Leliana appeared to have heard all about it.

“I gather you and Josephine have made a scandal in Varric’s mind,” she said a few days later, when Cassandra had encountered her accidentally on a stairway and they had stopped for a moment to exchange words about a mission in the Emerald Graves.

“Varric is an idiot,” said Cassandra, “and does his best to get under my skin.” After much thought, she had decided that this would be her best response to what he had said; everyone knew that he prodded at her, and would therefore accept this interpretation of his needling. This was her first opportunity to try it out.

“Ah yes,” said Leliana. “And he looks for just enough truth, or the semblance of truth, that his inventions seem plausible, doesn’t he?” She smiled blandly. “I am glad to see that Josephine seems undisturbed by the workings of his imagination; I would be very unhappy to see her distressed by false representations of romantic interest.” And she passed on.

Cassandra stood in the stairway for a moment longer, trying to work out exactly what that meant. Had she just been warned to take care? Surely not. Leliana could not imagine that Cassandra was romantically interested in Josephine.

Could she?

She had more opportunities to apply her defensive tactics, as so many people seemed to want to mention Varric’s threat to her privately. And when she did, they nodded and smiled and agreed that he would likely never stop needling her, and smiled some more, and she never felt quite confident that they believed in what she had said. It was most distressing.

Sera was the exception, in that it was clear that she believed in Varric’s story completely and did not bother to hide that fact. “Yeah, right,” she said dismissively when Cassandra said her piece. “Look, if you want in the Ambassador’s pants, just do it, right? You like her a lot, she likes you a lot, neither of you are the kind to play around. Just frigging get off the pot and do it.”

There was nothing to say to that, but then Cassandra found no response to a great deal of what Sera said.

*        *        *

Lavellan had recently asked Cassandra to spend more time sparring with her, which she was delighted to do—it was an excellent way to work off frustrations. But the Inquisitor’s free time was limited. A message from Leliana interrupted one particularly rewarding match, to Cassandra’s annoyance. They had been at it for a good long time, and when the Seeker had managed to disarm her, instead of yielding she had unexpectedly closed with Cassandra, tackling her so that they both crashed to the ground. She was inside the range of a longsword, but had managed to position herself so that neither sword nor shield were effective against her; Cassandra dropped both and it turned into a physical struggle of pure strength and agility. Cassandra had the advantage of weight, but Lavellan was faster, and in the end she prevailed, pinning Cassandra, though it was a close thing. “You almost had me!” she laughed, when she had regained her feet and put out a hand to pull the Seeker up.

“That was because you took me by surprise,” said Cassandra. “Next time you will not. Thank you, it is good to be reminded that not every fighter does as expected.”

“Shall we go again?” said Lavellan happily.

But that was when one of Leliana’s runners interrupted them with the message. Lavellan read the note and sighed. “The Council will need to meet to discuss this. Tell Leliana I will be there immediately.” The runner ran off, and she turned to the Seeker. “Cassandra, may I ask you to tell Josephine while I get Cullen?”

 _I am covered in dirt and sweat_ , thought Cassandra. _The last thing I want is to see Josephine in this state_. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Tell her that we will need her notes on the situation in Emprise.” And then Lavellan was off toward Cullen’s office at her characteristic jog.

Cassandra walked up the stairs and along the hall to Josephine’s office. She was hot and tired and filthy and knew she smelled strongly of sweat and was in a state entirely inappropriate for the Ambassador’s office. Well, at least Josephine would have to deal with the Inquisitor in exactly the same condition .

Lavellan very occasionally asked her to carry messages to Josephine, if a runner was not immediately at hand, and she was happy to do so. If the message did not require urgent attention on Josephine’s part, or add significantly to her workload, she would sometimes invite the Seeker to take tea. “An early break,” she called it, or a late one. That would not happen this time, of course, but she was still glad for the chance to see the Ambassador, even for a moment. Part of her wanted to avoid Josephine, the source of so much upheaval in her mind, but every time she actually saw her something in her swelled and opened, and that was worth any distress she felt later, worrying in her loft.

Josephine was alone when she came into her office, writing with great concentration, but looked up when Cassandra entered, and smiled at her.

“Lavellan asked me to tell you that the Council needs to meet immediately, and to bring your notes on Emprise.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” said the Ambassador, shuffling papers into a pile. “I have just been working on them, in fact, so all is in readiness.” And then she looked at the Seeker and let her eyes slide slowly down Cassandra’s form, then up again. She was still smiling. “Have the two of you been sparring?”

Cassandra felt even hotter than she had been. “I suppose that the presence of half the dirt of the Yard on me gave that away,” she managed. She felt a trickle of sweat run down her temple and tried to wipe it away with the back of her hand.

“Well, it was a clue,” said Josephine. And then she grinned. “You are making everything much worse. Here, let me help.” She got to her feet and advanced on Cassandra, pulling a handkerchief from some corner of her clothing.

Cassandra took a step back and felt the back of her legs hit the settee. “You will ruin your handkerchief.”

“Nonsense,” said Josephine, reaching up.

She stood very, very still while Josephine dabbed at her face. The Ambassador had a look of intense concentration that was both familiar and a little strange. She was very close. Cassandra did not know what to do with her hands.

“There,” said Josephine, finishing. She had not stepped back. There seemed to be a great deal of dirt on her handkerchief. “You will need to go to the baths to really clean up, but at least now you will not look quite so much like an urchin from the streets of Denerim.”

 _She is close enough to kiss_ , thought Cassandra, and did not kiss her. And then there were voices outside the door, and Josephine stepped back, tucking the handkerchief away. “Thank you,” said Cassandra belatedly, finding her voice.

“You are very welcome,” said Josephine as Leliana came in, with the Inquisitor and Cullen on her heels. Cassandra nodded to them all in response to their greetings, and wordlessly made her escape.

*        *        *

Cassandra sat at her table, unhappy and unsettled. It was bad enough to fall into the Fade; that would discomfit anyone. But to see Justinia, or what might not have been Justinia… it knocked everything she believed askew. It did not _fit_. Lavellan could and obviously did sympathize, but she would not _feel_ the blow that Cassandra felt when she had seen Most Holy.

Cassandra sat and stared at the page before her. She _would_ finish writing about this, no matter how she hated the process. But perhaps not tonight; she was tired and not thinking clearly. _As if I could ever think clearly about such a thing_.

Perhaps she would feel better if she visited the baths. They had come to Skyhold late in the afternoon, and then there had been the immediate business of settling her horse and sorting through her gear. They might be called out at any time on short notice, so she did not ever leave this task, no matter how tired she might be. The travelling packs must have anything that had been used up restocked, a second set of clean clothes must replace those going to the laundry, her weapons must be cleaned and ready to take up again. She was meticulous about doing such tasks as soon as she returned from any expedition.

At least she did not have to attend any meetings, thank the Maker, as the Inquisitor did, immediately going from the stables to the War Room to meet with the Council. Instead, once she had finished attending to her gear, she had asked for food and drink to be sent to her loft, picked up quill and parchment, and tried to write; the sooner she got things down on paper the better. The account of what had happened _must_ be recorded, before she forgot the details. She had made a few brief notes while they were in the field, but it had not been possible to write up an extended account of it all.

But it was hard. She was not satisfied with anything she had written. It was awkward and disjointed and incoherent. Much like the experience of being in the Fade, to be sure; but that was not _helpful_. And she did not know what to say about the spirit that might or might not have been Justinia. Even the Inquisitor, who had come to find her during a break in the meetings, could not guide her in that respect.

_Ach, there is no point in continuing this tonight. I will go to the baths and then to sleep. Perhaps that will calm me. Perhaps it will all be easier tomorrow._

Those of high rank in Skyhold kept bathtubs in their quarters, and had servants to prepare baths for them; the same applied to noble guests. But Lavellan had insisted that communal baths be established for all who lived and worked within the keep. This was certainly unusual, and the residents did not know what to think of it, but after some hesitation they had come to appreciate and use the facilities regularly. “I can’t think of anything better than coming in from a mission, from the cold, and having a hot bath,” said Harding confidentially to Cassandra once. “It’s responsible for half the good morale in the scouts, I swear.”

A great room in the cellars had been repurposed for this. It already had an enormous fireplace; a wall had been built down the centre, dividing men from women, and tubs set in place. The river that burst forth from beneath Skyhold was a plentiful source of water, even in dry seasons; Gatsi’s men had run a pipe diverting some of it to a reservoir in the bathing rooms, so water did not have to be carried great distances. Bath attendants kept the fire and heated the water as needed, also providing towels and soap; one could bring one’s own scented soaps and oils, of course, but really you only needed to bring a change of clothes. It was convenient, efficient, and an unusual indulgence in a fortress.

Cassandra certainly had the rank to bathe in her own quarters, but did so rarely, generally only when she could not bear to be around other people; it seemed wasteful of the time and resources of servants who had better things to do, as she did not mind bathing with others. She thought Cullen had much the same attitude, and Lavellan, who had come from a culture in which communal bathing was the norm, certainly used it more often than not. Leliana and Josephine generally had baths drawn in their own quarters, but Cassandra still saw them in the public baths fairly regularly; the gossip that could be heard when people were feeling relaxed was a valuable resource for both of them.

It was later than she had thought; there was no one in the baths but one sleepy attendant, who roused herself enough to draw hot water for Cassandra. The Seeker washed herself fastidiously, sluicing off the dirt and sweat of the expedition, unfastening her braid and washing her hair, and then sat back to relax. It felt wonderful. The fall into the Fade had left her with more bruises and strains than usual after battle. She let her head drop back against the tub’s edge and closed her eyes.

She was half asleep when the sound of someone coming into the room and speaking to the attendant in low tones roused her. She opened her eyes and there was Josephine, looking calm and collected and beautiful, and not at all as if she was in need of a bath.

Cassandra sat up abruptly, drawing up her knees to stabilize herself, feeling—she was not certain what she felt. Whatever it was, it was ridiculous. It was not as if Josephine had not seen her naked, as she had seen Josephine naked. It was only that she had been half asleep, and was startled.

Josephine was smiling. “We finished our meetings at last, and I came looking for you, but you were most elusive; a runner finally told me that you had come here.”

“I am sorry,” said Cassandra, then was not quite sure what she was apologizing for.

“No, no,” said Josephine. “I only came to ask if you would like to take tea before you retired for the night. I have blueberry pastries, as well. But you are probably very tired after a day of travel, and—”

“I would be glad to,” said Cassandra, who up until that moment had wanted nothing more than to find her bed.

“Good,” said Josephine, and then, uncharacteristically, did not say anything else. But Cassandra felt the Ambassador’s eyes on her, and was thankful for the low light in the room.

Josephine was frowning. “You are black and blue,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“It is just bruises,” said Cassandra, and then, shifting nervously under Josephine’s gaze, moved the wrong way and winced. “And a few strained muscles. It is nothing that warm baths and a little time will not fix.”

Josephine did not look entirely reassured, but said only, “I will see you in my rooms, then,” and took her leave.

There was no reason to soak longer; she was warm and relaxed, or had been, and if she waited she was likely to fall asleep over the tea. Cassandra got out of the tub, dried herself, and put on the clean clothes she had brought, leaving the rest in a bundle and asking the attendant to see that it was taken to the laundries. And then she made her way to Josephine’s rooms.

The Ambassador was making the tea as she arrived, only looking up briefly with a smile. For a while the only words they spoke were of greeting, of pouring and passing, of whether Cassandra would like a pastry, here, and they were blueberry, of course she would; and then there was little to say because of eating.

“I miss these when we are on expedition,” she said finally, brushing crumbs away. “I am afraid that I have a weakness for them.”

“And as you can see, I am not above exploiting that weakness, if it convinces you to take tea with me,” said Josephine with a smile.

“I do not take tea with you for the pastries,” said Cassandra brusquely, feeling mildly offended. Did Josephine truly think that she was motivated only by blueberry tarts? Then she saw the Ambassador’s surprised expression, and thought that she had been rude. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I meant that—I only—” She stopped, floundering.

“I understand,” said Josephine quickly. “And I was only joking. But the pastries are certainly an added benefit, for both of us. I am very fond of them, and inviting you to tea provides me with an excellent excuse for indulging.”

Cassandra nodded, feeling awkward and foolish.

“Cullen sent a bird with a message from Adamant when you fell into the Fade,” said Josephine then, quietly. “I think that he panicked, and small wonder. The next message reassured us, but…” She trailed off, then said, “It was… very frightening. I know that you are always in danger when you’re in the field, but usually it is possible to forget that. I confess that I was not truly convinced of your safety even after your party rode into Skyhold. The meetings with the Inquisitor reassured me as to her wellbeing, but I wanted to take tea with you so that I could see for myself that you were all right. It is very selfish of me, but I am so very glad that it was Stroud who was left behind, and not any of those I know and—” She stopped, and this time did not restart.

“It was hard to leave him behind,” said Cassandra. “But there was no other way out.” She sighed, wondering if she would ever stop feeling the guilt that said they should all have stood with the Warden against the Nightmare. “He is—was—a very brave man.”

“It must have been dreadful for you all,” said Josephine soberly.

“When we fell into the Fade,” admitted Cassandra, “I was terrified almost beyond reason.”

“Was it very terrible?”

“It is not so much terrible as strange and disturbing. Nothing there is really real, and yet it is altogether too real. There were things that I found frightening, but the fears were manageable; in that it was like any expedition against enemies, when you are fighting you do not have time to think or feel much. But… the last time such a thing happened we created the darkspawn, and I was dreadfully afraid that the like would happen again.” She shivered involuntarily.

“Lavellan said that the Divine helped you.”

“Yes. Though I do not know if it was truly some remnant of Most Holy, or a spirit that assumed her form.” Cassandra swallowed and shifted uneasily. She had very carefully been not thinking about that. That presence was if anything more disturbing than the Nightmare. “I do not know what to think about it.”

“It has unsettled Leliana greatly,” said Josephine. “I have never seen her so disturbed. Are _you_ all right, Cassandra?”

_Am I all right? I am not certain._

“Leliana was very close to the Divine,” she answered after a moment. “Much closer than I. And she was not able to speak to—what we encountered. She has good reason to be more disturbed than I. But I will admit—it is difficult. It is—” She shook her head in frustration, wordless. “I cannot explain.”

“You do not have to,” said Josephine, reaching out to touch her hand, forestalling her confusion. “But if you ever wish to speak of it to a friend—I will listen.”

Cassandra looked at her, feeling warmed. “Thank you.”

Josephine’s hand was still on hers. Cassandra wanted to turn her own hand under it, clasp the Ambassador’s fingers. Would it be so dreadful to do so? It was only human contact. With a friend. It did not mean— And then Josephine took her hand away and reached for the teapot, to refill their cups, and then stood to lay a little more wood on the fire, which had gone down to embers. And Cassandra sat, feeling bereft.

_Knowing that there can be no future with Josephine does not change anything. I am a fool._

Josephine returned to sit beside Cassandra. The settee was not large, and this time she was a little closer than she had been before; their shoulders touched, and their hips. It was comforting. She wanted to put her arms around Josephine and pull her close. She sipped her tea.

*        *        *

Josephine seemed distracted in the days after they returned; it was if her mind was elsewhere, or working out complicated sums. It was a little odd, and the last time this had happened it had not turned out well. Cassandra, alarmed, asked her if she was all right, and Josephine assured her with a smile that she was. “There are some family matters that I must work out how to best deal with, that is all.” Cassandra was reassured, but thought that it must sometimes be difficult for her, expected to manage her family’s business dealings—and her siblings!—as well as be an effective Ambassador for the Inquisition: she could not imagine doing one of those jobs, let alone all of them.

But whatever the source of Josephine’s distraction, it did not stop her from taking tea with Cassandra regularly, and that was the main thing. Since they had returned from Adamant somehow they had begun to spend at least a little time together over a cup every day, even if it was only a few moments snatched between Josephine’s other tasks. _I should not let this make me so happy_ , thought Cassandra, watching Josephine smile at her as she poured a newly acquired blend for them to try. _It cannot last_. And then she thought defiantly, _It does not matter. We may none of us survive the oncoming battle. It is not wrong to take a little respite, a little pleasure, when we can_.

They had also, at Josephine’s suggestion, begun to take an evening meal together at least once a week, when Cassandra was not on expedition, to talk about books. “During the day there are so many interruptions that it’s hard to get one’s teeth into a subject,” the Ambassador said, and Cassandra agreed. Sometimes they went to the tavern—interruptions were of course possible and even likely there, but for the most part, when people realized what they were discussing, they were left alone. Occasionally the Inquisitor joined them, as she had a fondness for books, or Varric, who always had a great deal to say on the subject. That was fine and actually enjoyable for the most part, though sometimes Cassandra was left wanting to pick him up and shake him until his teeth rattled. The man had such a _cynical_ view of some things.

But often they supped in Josephine’s quarters. By unspoken agreement this almost always happened when they talked about particularly silly and enjoyable romances; Cassandra didn’t know about the Ambassador, but she was not willing to expose her most frivolous passions publicly. Lavellan knew about her love of romances, certainly, and Varric, and of course Leliana, and she supposed others, but that did not mean she wanted to put her interest on general display and risk ridicule. Romance—passion—might appear ridiculous on the surface, but it was worthy of serious discussion, and should be treated respectfully.

Josephine was always respectful of romances as a genre, though she might make fun of a particular writer or book whose work was ridiculously extravagant. She and Cassandra did sometimes have different ideas about what was realistic, which led to some interesting conversations and excursions into entirely different subjects. It was all most enjoyable.

One of their arguments was about an otherwise well-written book that proposed a romance between a Chantry sister and a Carta gang member. “I cannot believe in such a pairing,” Cassandra argued. “It is entertaining, yes, but they are too fundamentally opposed in their character. It is not at all likely that they would find love.”

“I disagree,” said Josephine, sitting up straighter. “Love is not always sensible, and they do have some things in common. Their love of flowers, for example. Their passion for puzzles, and games of chance.”

“But these are not important things!”

“They are important to those characters,” Josephine pointed out. “Just because they are not important to you does not mean that others cannot find them so.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Enough to overcome a fundamental disagreement on ethical principles? We are talking about a Chantry sister and a criminal! Not to mention the problem that Taymer does not believe in the Maker? I think not.”

“Taymer has strong principles,” retorted Josephine, “and that is made clear throughout the story. All right, he doesn’t believe in the Maker, but he respects Sirina’s beliefs. He is a criminal, yes, but he makes choices within that framework and does his best not to harm the innocent. It is that which brings them together as well as causing conflict between them. The whole _plot_ hangs on his sense of ethics!”

Cassandra was shaking her head. “They are too different.”

“Opposites _do_ attract,” said Josephine. “There are examples in real life everywhere. Look at Lavellan and Sera: one is Dalish, one hates the Dalish and anything ‘elfy.’ They are a most unlikely couple, but they manage.”

“Lavellan is not exactly traditional in her beliefs.”

“She is very traditional about some things. But in any case they found common ground in wanting to help people, and then found more common ground beyond that. Sera has learned to accept things she cannot agree with; both of them have. Can you deny that? Or do you think their relationship is false and meaningless?”

Cassandra hesitated. “No. There is genuine love there. I cannot entirely understand it, but I have seen it.”

“Lavellan told me once that Sera would not accept her until she was absolutely certain that her commitment was real,” Josephine said. “It might seem that Sera would be as careless about matters of the heart as she is about other things, but she is not.”

“I misjudged Sera when I first met her,” Cassandra admitted. “And they are good for each other; I’m glad they are together.”

Josephine grinned. “Even though their liaison causes such scandal? No one would care about Sera with a Dalish hunter, but the Inquisitor! With a woman!”

“If they love each other and are happy, that is all that matters,” said Cassandra. “These games of position that the nobles play, that say a woman must only be with a man, and a man with a woman, so that they can produce heirs—they are bullshit.”

It came out considerably more vehemently than she had intended, and Josephine blinked in what Cassandra assumed was surprise. But all she said was, “I completely agree,” and then, “And that of course brings up another unlikely couple: Bull and Dorian. I rest my case.”

 _She agrees?_ Cassandra stared at her.

Josephine was grinning. “Can your arguments counter that example?”

_Josephine thinks that the production of heirs is less important than finding true love?_

“Cassandra?”

It belatedly occurred to Cassandra that Josephine had said something, but she had no idea what it was. “I’m sorry… I was distracted by a thought,” she stammered.

Mercifully, Josephine did not ask her what it was. “I proposed Bull and Dorian as another couple to consider,” she said only. “I do not think you can beat _that_ for unlikeliness, and I will submit that they are even harder to believe in that Taymer and Sirina.”

_She agreed with me._

“I cannot argue with that,” she said after a moment, wrestling her mind back to the topic at hand. At least this time she had processed what Josephine had said, though she did not feel able to offer intelligent comment on it. She was not sure that she was able to offer intelligent comment on anything. What she wanted was to go off somewhere alone and think.

“I would like to continue discussing this,” said Josephine then, “but I think you are tired. Shall we stop for now, and take it up again next week? It will allow us to marshal our arguments.”

“You are not satisfied with winning this part of the argument, you want to overcome all my defenses?” grumbled Cassandra as she rose, grateful to be allowed an escape.

“Oh yes, of course,” said Josephine, with a small, sleek smile.

_She agreed with me. I said that insisting that the ability to produce heirs is fundamental to deciding on acceptable romantic pairings is bullshit, and she agreed with me. Does that mean only that she resents the requirement on principle?_

_Or does it mean that she sees a liaison with a woman as possible?_

She could not know unless Josephine said more. Antivan merchants arranged marriages for their children as the nobles did, and for the same reasons; she did not know if Josephine would go against the wishes of her parents in this, no matter what her personal inclinations and beliefs were. She did not even know whether Josephine found women attractive.

But then all unexpectedly the Inquisitor took her out on expedition for two weeks, and the next supper with Josephine had to be postponed. She found she could think of nothing but the Ambassador and what she might believe for the whole time, at least in the evenings when she had time to think. It was an enormous relief to get back to Skyhold and Josephine, who brightened visibly on seeing her and suggested that they eat together that night and finish their discussion.

But somehow the topic never quite got round to books, for there were too many other things to speak of, and toward the end of the evening the Ambassador acknowledged their failure and suggested that they try again the next evening, and Cassandra agreed.

This time Josephine applied her management skills, and although there were some side excursions they managed to keep more or less on topic. But that topic, Cassandra thought, might have shifted a little; Josephine seemed intent on focusing on real relationships to bolster her points, which led in some unexpected directions.

“You are an example of an unlikely couple yourself, Cassandra,” said the Ambassador, early in their conversation. “I do not know anything about your liaison with Regalyan beyond what you have told me, but you must admit that the fact that it existed at all is surprising.”

“I—suppose that that is true,” said Cassandra, startled. She normally did not speak of Galyan to anyone; it was a private matter. But Josephine was a good friend, and open with her, and she found herself being more open with Josephine than most, so there was no reason not to speak of him, and she had done so. She had still found in herself an odd reluctance when doing so, and could not quite put a finger on the reason for it, and so she had not said much; just that he had accompanied her for a time in her youth, and how he had worked with her to counter the threat to the Divine. That he was a decent, honourable man. That she had hated mages, because of what had happened to her brother. That they had fallen in love, despite all. That they had eventually drifted apart, though they remained friends, and that his loss at the Conclave had greatly saddened her.

 _I told her a surprising amount_ , Cassandra thought, a little disconcerted by the realization.

“We assume so much about people,” Josephine was saying. “We assume that we know them, and then they constantly surprise us. Look at Cullen! You know how he has been treated at Celene’s balls; he’s a constant target.”

“Of course he is,” said Cassandra. “He’s the Commander of the Inquisition’s military forces.”

“Yes, but if that was the only reason, the pursuit would not be quite so enthusiastic as it is,” said Josephine. “A good deal of it is because he is so handsome. And because he is handsome, you would expect that he would have learned to take advantage of that interest. But he does not do as might be expected: his inclination is to flee such advances, not encourage them. He does not match the expectations typical for men who are handsome.”

“He takes his duties very seriously,” said Cassandra, “and I do not think he would likely consider romance while Corypheus is a threat and we are in such straits. It is a question of priorities.”

“That is only an excuse,” said Josephine firmly. “Duty and romance are not mutually exclusive. Romance is not simply a distraction; it can be a comfort and a source of strength when things are difficult. It is foolish to simply turn one’s back on it because of a sense of duty.”

“But there can be reasons to do so that are genuine,” said Cassandra stubbornly. “If a passion becomes all-consuming, it can lead to a loss of balance, to poor judgements.”

“If passion can lead to a loss of balance, then the lack of balance is already there,” said Josephine, “and likely so is a history of poor judgement for any number of reasons. Did you make poor judgements because of your fondness for Regalyan?”

“No,” said Cassandra slowly. “I understood what was most important. If I made poor judgements it was not because of him.”

“And I would expect no less of you,” said Josephine with a certain air of complacent triumph. Cassandra briefly tried to work out exactly why Josephine had that tone and then gave up.

“Galyan and I—we loved each other, but it was not always easy,” said Cassandra, going back to what she felt more sure of. “You make it sound as if dealing with differences is simple, and it is not. And sometimes the differences are too great.”

“Of course,” said Josephine. “There are differences that truly are irreconcilable. But there is always work that must be done between lovers, no matter how compatible a couple is.” She hesitated. “I think—” She stopped again, uncharacteristically awkward, and then said, “Have you fallen in love often?”

The question took Cassandra aback,and she didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m sorry,” said Josephine hastily. “I don’t mean to pry. I—”

“No,” said Cassandra, finding words with difficulty. “I have not often fallen in love. To do so—it is not a simple thing for me.”

_Only with Galyan, really._

_And now with you._

“When I was young,” Josephine was saying with a small smile, “I fell in love all the time. Or at least I thought I was falling in love. When I came to Val Royeaux to finish my schooling I seemed to fall in love with people every week, as did all my friends. But those affections, those passions—looking back, I can see that they were shallow and careless. I think it was the city itself that I was truly in love with.”

“Many people seem to feel that way,” said Cassandra, who had never loved Val Royeaux.

Josephine’s smile widened. “But perhaps not you?”

“I—” Cassandra floundered. “There are many things to appreciate about Val Royeaux. To enjoy. And I do enjoy them.”

“It’s all right, Cassandra,” said Josephine, twinkling. “I am not offended that the city has not won your heart as it has mine. But it was so beautiful and romantic when I first came there, shining in the sun in a way that was so _alive_ , that I fell in love at first sight. And all the people I met seemed so extraordinary—ah, there was a young man, another student. I fell in love with him as soon as I saw him; he was tall and dark and handsome and very, very clever. And then I fell in love with a short man who was an artist; he has gone on to become very famous. And then— Oh, it seemed that I fell in love at the drop of an elegant hat, and out of love again just as quickly, at least for the most part. Occasionally my affections lasted longer. Oh, I had such a passion for Leliana!” she said with a fond tone. “That lasted for months.”

 _Leliana?_ said a quiet voice in Cassandra’s mind.

 _She_ is _attracted to women._

 _Leliana?_ screamed the voice, outraged.

She found her own voice, somehow. “You… and Leliana?”

“Oh, no!” said Josephine, laughing. “It was entirely one-sided, as most of my passions were. She was a bard, and very beautiful and romantic, and half the city was in love with her. But I was only a callow student, and not of romantic interest; in any case, she was in love with someone else. She was certainly aware of my attraction, but did not encourage it. She was some years older than I at a time in life when that is important, and moved largely in different circles. I was playing at learning to be a bard, so there was a little overlap, but not much. When I look back now I am very thankful that she did not encourage my silliness. Still, I remember that time fondly, for it made us friends.”

Cassandra could not find a single word to say.

“I think that many young nobles are like I was then,” Josephine was saying, a reflective tone in her voice. “When we know that marriages will likely be arranged for us, and may not match our inclinations—imaginary passions become very attractive. It takes a little time to understand what true affection is, and its value.”

Arranged marriages. She did not want to think of Josephine in an arranged marriage. “I am very thankful that my uncle gave up on trying to arrange a marriage for me.”

“You avoided a great deal by going to the Seekers,” said Josephine, whose tone had sobered. “It has given you much more freedom than most of your rank. Now, I am in both worse and better position because I am the Montilyet heir. I am expected to make an advantageous marriage. But because I am the heir to a trading family, and expected to make decisions, I am allowed to do so. And my parents love me well and wish to see me happy; they will not pressure me to marry someone I cannot care for. I am lucky in that they will negotiate with me in that respect; I have some leeway to define what is advantageous.”

The whole topic was intolerable. _I cannot think of Josephine with—no. I cannot_. “Neither Taymer nor Sirina had to deal with working around arranged marriages, at least,” she said finally, trying to wrench the conversation away from personal matters.

“No,” said Josephine, looking at her. “It is easier for them.”

 _Josephine is—at least sometimes—attracted to women. She was attracted to Leliana_. Cassandra, back in her loft, felt a flaring of jealousy. But there had been nothing between them save Josephine’s infatuation, and that had passed. _If they had been together… I am not sure how I would feel about it._ Angry, certainly. She felt angry _now_ , which was ridiculous. She should not be furious at Leliana because Josephine had fallen in love with her years ago. It was not as if she had returned the feelings, or encouraged Josephine, that was clear from the way the Ambassador had spoken.

She knew what bards did; she knew a little of Leliana’s past. The spymaster had been a very good bard, which meant that she was sly and clever and dishonest, and she had said herself that then she had cared little for anything beyond excitement. She had been changed since that time: Cassandra did not know the details, but from the little Leliana had said, it had something to do with the betrayal of a lover. She had credited Justinia with saving her, and clearly Most Holy had known her whole story. Leliana’s time with the Hero of Fereldan seemed to have had an effect on her as well; Cassandra knew more of that tale.

 _She still uses the tools of a bard_ , thought Cassandra, _though now she does it for a much better cause. She has changed. But if she had drawn Josephine further into that world…._ The thought made her get up and pace. _She would certainly be a different person. She would likely be dead by now. Thank the Maker that Leliana did not—_

Josephine had told her some time ago, when they discussed a story with a bard as the hero, about the way she and her friends had flirted with the profession, and why she had turned away from it. Cassandra had rather liked the book, which was very romantic, but Josephine had said that it had made everything far too simple and easy and had glossed over the realities. The tears in her eyes when she had recounted her story made it clear that it still disturbed her. Cassandra had wanted to offer comfort, to put her arms around her; but she had not.

_She can find women attractive._

She needed air. She went to the practice yard and repeated training patterns until she was so tired she could barely lift her sword. But she still did not sleep easily that night.

*        *        *

“I am so _sick_ of dealing with these petty fools,” said Josephine violently, setting down her wine glass with a hard click. “Maker, it is as if they cannot stop: Ambassador, I have been affronted by Lord Cod-piece’s declamations. Ambassador, the birds are too loud in the mornings. Ambassador, I must have the room that Lady Big-skirts is in. Ambassador, you must intercede in the disagreement between these two or that three or that dozen, none of whom are capable of settling things on their own. Gah! These nobles drive me mad with their whims and maneuvering. I am an ambassador, not a nursemaid! There are so many more important things to do, and even though I will not play their games they constantly waste my time in asking me to!”

“You need to show them that the consequences of your intercession will be worse than those that occur if they do not involve you,” said Cassandra. “I do not know how you would do that; I would most likely hit them, but I suppose that a diplomat must be more subtle. “

Josephine laughed. “Yes indeed. Though one might wish it was possible. But you are right, I must think of ways to make asking for my help distasteful.” She hesitated. “Would you mind very much if I used you as a threat on occasion, if it was possible to do so? I have done it once before, to excellent effect.”

“Me?”

“Someone challenged the legitimacy of the Inquisition early on. I simply suggested that because it had been established by Justinia, such a challenge would be offensive to you, and that your honour would require satisfaction,” said Josephine primly. “I never heard another word on the matter.”

Cassandra gave a bark of surprised laughter. “I am happy to be of service if such threats can make your life easier.”

“Well, I am not sure if it would often be a _practical_ approach,” said Josephine, who was now smiling, “but at least imagining it would be a relief to me.”

“You need to go somewhere and take a holiday from your duties occasionally, do something different,” said Cassandra then, voicing something she had been thinking for quite some time. “There is no one in the Inquisition who works harder than you do; you must not let it grind you down.”

Josephine sighed. “It is not that easy. There is so much to do, and although I have excellent staff working for me there are still things I must keep my eye on. Even if I left Skyhold the work would follow me; there is nowhere I can go that diplomacy will not require my attention. No, I shall rest after this war is over.”

“If you take that tack, you will make yourself ill,” said Cassandra, who had recently been watching the growth of dark circles under Josephine’s eyes with concern and was determined to do something about it. “At least take a day off, even if you do not leave Skyhold.”

Josephine laughed. “In Skyhold there can be no such thing as a day off, because there is nowhere within these walls that a runner cannot find me!”

“Then do not stay within these walls,” said Cassandra recklessly. “Come riding with me for a day. I know some pleasant places that are not so far from the keep as to be impractical; we can ride out in the morning, take a meal and rest and return in the afternoon. It is safe in the lands close by now.”

Josephine looked at her and smiled. “If it was not, I am sure that you would stand as my protector.”

“I—of course.” Was a blush rising to her ears? Cassandra hoped not.

“It would be a lovely thing to do,” Josephine was saying wistfully. “But tomorrow there are a number of letters that must be written, and—”

“Is there anything that truly cannot wait a day?”

The Ambassador was staring out a window, and said nothing for a moment. “No. It can all wait,” she said finally. “Let us do it, then, if the day is fine. I will make arrangements to be absent. And I will plan the meal, if you will allow me; I must contribute something if you are to take the part of my knight-commander in this excursion.”

 _Did she mean something by that comment?_ Cassandra thought later. It might reference a story both of them were fond of, one in which a couple on a picnic found themselves—no. It was almost certainly only a reference to Cassandra protecting her against danger.

Almost certainly.

*        *        *

It was a lovely day, sunny and bright. Even on such a day the area immediately around Skyhold was almost always a little chilly, as it was high in the mountains and in a position that was exposed to the winds, but once they’d descended a little from the heights it was much warmer, and very pleasant.

“Let us not go _too_ far,” Josephine had said a little after they set forth; “I have not ridden much recently, and I have no doubt that I will feel it tomorrow.”

“We will not go far,” agreed Cassandra. “Only far enough that you will not be tempted to return to work.”

The Ambassador looked round and smiled at her. “Ah, but it is so lovely to be out riding with you that I’m sure nothing can tempt me to do that!”

Cassandra had chosen a gentle horse for her, being uncertain of her experience, but it quickly became clear that she was a good rider, relaxed and with an excellent seat. She had put aside her usual clothing, exchanging it for something more practical: subtly embroidered riding breeches and a ruffled shirt with flowing sleeves under a beautifully tooled sleeveless leather jerkin, with matching high boots. She looked magnificent.

”I confess that I was not appreciating the scenery when we first came to Skyhold,” Josephine commented after they had ridden for some little time, looking round in awe at one particularly spectacular view. Cassandra was taking her on a slow, meandering route that for the most part avoided the main road that now connected Skyhold to Orlais and Ferelden on either side of the pass the fortress held, instead staying to small side trails. These were kept open by the scouts who used them, but had little traffic otherwise, and they encountered only one person as they rode, a sentinel on a bluff who waved as they passed. It was late spring, and this high up there were still flowers in the meadows; the air was fresh and clear. On narrow trails Cassandra led, but when the lands opened out they rode side by side, where she could enjoy Josephine’s reactions to the lands they traversed. And she did react, most gratifyingly, with clear delight. Cassandra said little, happy in watching her pleasure.

She had a goal in mind, and eventually they reached it; an old ruin tucked into a fold in the mountain. Perched high in a corner of a small narrow grassy meadow above a cliff, it had probably been an outpost at a time when the main trails followed a different route, but now it was only a shambles at the end of a very overgrown trail. Turf had overrun most of the stone floors, leaving only a little of the paving visible. There were a few half-tumbled walls that gave shelter from the breeze without impeding an excellent view.

Their party had found it on a hunting excursion when the Inquisitor was tracking a wounded mountain sheep; the scouts had later confirmed its location and kept an eye on it, but did not use it, as it did not fall on routes useful to them. It was a beautiful spot, and very private. If you knew where you were going and rode the most direct route, it was less than an hour from Skyhold; Cassandra had taken to going there when she particularly wanted to be alone.

And now she was here with Josephine. “I thought we might rest here and eat our meal,” she said. “There is a small spring and enough grass to keep the horses happy.”

The Ambassador was looking round with delight. “How beautiful! How did you ever find this place?”

Cassandra explained, and Josephine explored. There was not a great deal to explore, but she exclaimed with pleasure over it. The spring was small, just a tiny pool in a rock crevice that flowed down into a larger one suitable for the horses’ use before following a narrow stony channel through the turf down to fall over the edge of the cliff in a delicate curtain. Cassandra had left an old chipped mug there after her first visit. “It is not very elegant, I’m afraid,” she said, scooping water and offering it to Josephine.

“It is perfect,” said the Ambassador firmly, drinking and then giving the mug back to Cassandra. “Oh, Cassandra, this place is wonderful. Do you come here often?”

“Occasionally, when I have the time. It is a good place to think without interruption.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” said Josephine. And then she smiled. “And now we should eat. I thought I had likely packed too much, but now I am not so sure—I am very hungry!”

She had packed a feast, and brought a blanket to spread it on. There was fresh bread, and several kinds of cheese and smoked meat and fish. There were some spicy pickled morsels of a kind Cassandra had never tried, unexpectedly good with the fish. There were apples. There was a bottle of wine from the Montilyet vineyards. Two bottles: one to drink with the main course, one to drink with the sweets afterward. And there were pastries, oh yes, there were pastries. Josephine had not tried to bring anything with cream—that would have been foolish—but there were fruit pastries and some made with nuts and honey.

Cassandra had her knife to use if necessary, but otherwise they ate with their fingers, taking the food directly from its wrappings; Josephine had brought cups for the wine, but not bothered with plates or cutlery. “You may have a regular opportunity to eat like a barbarian, out on expedition so often, but I do not,” she said cheerfully. “I intend to make the most of it.”

“We do carry bowls and spoons,” said Cassandra, raising an eyebrow.

“Do not try to convince me that you are so sensible,” said Josephine comfortably. “I am certain that you all eat directly from the stewpot, gnawing away at the bones and tossing them over your shoulders. You cannot change my ideas in this.” And she grinned at Cassandra and licked grease and crumbs off her fingers.

Cassandra swallowed hard, feeling heat rise under her collar. _Damn it_.

It had not been getting any easier at all. It was not just an attraction; she knew was desperately in love with Josephine, and foolish with it. She was not certain that Josephine felt any interest in her, but she could not stop thinking about how badly she wanted to find out if she did. It still seemed intolerable to her that even if the attraction was mutual she might have to give up Josephine to an advantageous marriage, but sometimes it seemed that it would almost be worth it if she could have her love for even a short time. She might not survive this war, none of them might, and then what would her reservations have gained her? Was it wrong to take a little comfort in love, even knowing that Josephine would break her heart if her duty required it?

Was it principle that held her back, or fear?

“You must be very hot with both a jerkin and your cuirass,” said Josephine, who had removed her own jerkin and exclaimed at how much better she felt. “It is very warm in the shelter of this wall. Surely we are safe enough here for you to take them off.”

“I am used to it,” said Cassandra.

“That does not mean you should endure discomfort when it is not necessary,” said Josephine severely.

Cassandra hesitated. She always wore armour when she rode out from Skyhold, at least her breastplate; it was a part of her. The thought of removing it made her feel a little uneasy. But it was true that it was safe here, as safe as anywhere in Thedas. And it _was_ hot. And Josephine asked. She unbuckled the cuirass and then unfastened her jerkin and laid both aside, feeling naked.

“There,” said Josephine. “I am sure that feels better.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra. It did feel better, though she now found herself unsettled. But Josephine did not seem to mind.

“Oof,” she said, “I have eaten so much! Let us take a little break before trying the pastries. Do you need more wine? Here, let me refill your cup. There is only a little left in this bottle.”

She poured the last of it into Cassandra’s cup, wrapped up the leftover food apart from the sweets, and then walked over to her horse to put it in the saddlebags and then began to walk about the meadow again. Cassandra sat with her back against a fallen stone, feeling warm and relaxed, and drank the wine and watched her. She was picking flowers now. Cassandra was not certain what criteria she was applying in selecting them, but she was not choosing them randomly.

She returned after a little while and dropped down onto the blanket beside Cassandra, looking satisfied, her hands full of blossoms. “I have not done this for a long time,” she said, picking up a flower and beginning to fiddle with it.

“Done what?” said Cassandra, puzzled.

“Made a flower crown,” said Josephine. “My friends and I all used to make them in spring when we were children. Have you never done it?”

“I do not think it was a skill that Anthony knew,” said Cassandra wryly. Her childhood had been far from normal, and moments like this reminded her of it.

“Then you must learn,” said Josephine. “Look, this is how it is done.” She pushed some flowers toward Cassandra and then showed her.

It was evidently an acquired skill, Cassandra thought. Josephine’s crown took shape quickly; her own was clumsy and kept falling apart. “I am hopeless at this,” she said, nonplussed.

“You just need to practice,” said Josephine. “If we go out on more excursions like this I shall force you to do so; expertise will come eventually. But there, mine is done; this is how the last connection is made, do you see?” And then she reached out and set the crown on Cassandra’s head.

Cassandra touched it, feeling like a fool and wondering if she was blushing. “This would suit you far better than I,” she said.

“Not with my hair up,” said Josephine. “And I made it for you. It does suit you, Cassandra. You are very beautiful, do you not know that?”

This time Cassandra knew that she blushed, and spectacularly. _She is very good at reducing me to silence, though I suppose that is not a high bar to set as a goal_. But Josephine had turned her attention aside tactfully, and was unwrapping the pastries. “I think that things have settled enough that I might be able to fit in one of these,” she said with satisfaction. “What about you? We can save what is left over for later. I am sure that the ride back will restore our appetites if we are too satiated to finish all now. Perhaps we should save the second bottle of wine as well, what do you think?”

Cassandra, momentarily transfixed by the words  _appetites_  and _satiated_ , mumbled something and thought, _I must get myself under control_. But that was easier said than done; she did not want pastries, she wanted Josephine. She wanted the woman who closed her eyes and made a slight sound, a sound of pleasure, when she took a bite of the nut pastry. There was a little gloss of honey on her upper lip, and she licked it off without opening her eyes.

Cassandra knew she was staring, and forced herself to look elsewhere. She was hot and anxious and needed—she took a bite of the fruit tart in her hand; it was excellent. It might as well have been wood. She examined it closely and took another bite.

“Is the tart all right?” said Josephine. “You have a very odd expression on your face.”

“Yes,” said Cassandra hastily. “It is very good. And yours?”

“It is wonderful,” said Josephine happily. “I have a particular fondness for these, so it is probably fortunate that the cooks do not often make them unless there is a special order. I think that I feel about them much as you do about blueberry tarts. Oh yes,” she said, as Cassandra raised startled eyes, “you may show yourself as the stern, silent Seeker to others, Cassandra, but I know your secret passion… for tarts. Take care, for it means I know how to bribe you.”

Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “I thought Leliana was the one who knew everyone’s secrets.”

“I have my ways of finding things out as well, when there is a secret worth discovering,” said Josephine complacently. “And if necessary, I can call on her; Leliana and I together are a formidable partnership.”

“That I have no doubt of whatsoever,” said Cassandra, finishing her pastry. She felt a little better, but still slightly anxious, unsettled, and wanted to do something, anything—but Josephine was showing no signs of wanting to leave, and this day was for the Ambassador. She sighed and lay back on the blanket and stared into blue, blue sky and thought of kissing Josephine, and then tried not to think of kissing Josephine.

“What do you think so far of the hero of our most recent story?” Josephine asked as she packed away the pastries.

Cassandra tried to remember what she had read; they had only just started, and she had not gotten very far. “Alessandro? I have not formed much of an opinion,” she said. “He has a great deal to say, certainly, considerably more than is necessary, and to my mind it is not all sensible.”

“He is a blowhard,” said Josephine. “How far have you read?”

“Only the first chapter. His actions when protecting Carolina in that were brave, at least.”

“That was not bravery!” said Josephine hotly and altogether unexpectedly. “He had sworn an oath to the Count, and betrayed both his master and the oath when it became inconvenient. His behaviour was dishonourable. He could easily have saved her by _talking_ to the Count; the man was in a temper but could have been stopped.”

“Not all of us are as good at talking to people who are angry as you,” said Cassandra uneasily.

“Regardless, he could have stopped him without killing him. It was too extreme, too foolish. It was not realistic.” Josephine sighed. “And Lady Carolina was already halfway to convincing the Count to release her; given a little more time she could have easily done so.”

“But that would have not made a heroic tale,” said Cassandra, smiling a little.

“But it _isn’t_ a heroic tale, Cassandra,” said Josephine earnestly. “That’s my point. I’ve read the first three chapters, and his character is not improving, it’s only getting worse. True heroism is standing up for the good of others without self-interest. It is believing in something. Heroism isn’t just an unthinking reaction to events, a whim; it reflects judgement. In the beginning Alessandro was brave only because he saw a pretty girl and wanted her, not because he knew anything about her situation, and in taking her part he broke an oath, showing that it was meaningless to him. Would you have done such a thing?”

“No,” said Cassandra slowly. “I would have stopped the Count, but I would not have killed him. Not unless and until I understood that his actions dishonoured my oath.”

“Exactly!” said Josephine. “ _You_ understand honour. Alessandro is brave only in his own interests. It devalues the meaning of heroism.”

“I see your point, I think. Do you want to find another book to read?”

“Not quite yet,” said Josephine. “The things I find disturbing do at least raise interesting points to discuss. And certainly I have a few uncomplimentary things to say about the author that I have not had a chance to voice yet. Let’s continue for a little longer and I will see if I can stifle the worst of my outrage.” She was smiling, then sobered. “It angers me partly because I have seen so much true bravery. I have something real to compare this story to. And I have not just seen it in reports of the heroics of the people who stand in the front lines of this war, I have watched it happen day by day. I have seen people help each other selflessly in spite of their fear and pain. Honestly, everyone, perhaps the ordinary servants and workers most of all, showed more genuine bravery on the trek to Skyhold than Alessandro has in his little finger.”

“You are not likely to find that kind of heroism described in tales,” said Cassandra. “People don’t want stories of the everyday heroism of simply surviving. They want stories that are exciting, not ordinary.” She grimaced. “That is why stories were told of me when I saved Divine Beatrix’s life; it is why stories will be told of the Inquisitor. It doesn’t matter if they are true, as long as they are extraordinary.”

“Good writers manage to put ordinary people into their books,” said Josephine. “It’s one reason why I like Varric’s writing; he exaggerates amusingly in some ways, but he is honest with his characters. And Cassandra, the tales may exaggerate or distort what happened, but you and the Inquisitor _are_ heroes. You think, and judge your actions. You make choices. You stand for something.”

“I do not always judge carefully,” muttered Cassandra, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees. “I am too prone to rush into things. You know this about me.”

“But I also know that you always try to find the truth in things, no matter how hard it is or how unhappy it makes you. That is your lodestone, is it not? That is what drives you, what gives you courage. And in turn you give others courage.”

This was horribly embarrassing. “You give me too much credit.”

“I do not. I look to you for courage and strength, Cassandra, when I am most in doubt and fear. I look to you for the bravery that defends truth. I have never known anyone as honest and brave as you are,” said Josephine.

It was intolerable to be held up as such a paragon, knowing how her own fears drove her. “I am not brave,” said Cassandra violently. “I am often afraid.”

“But you do what needs to be done anyway,” argued Josephine.

“Sometimes it is easy. When I see my duty clearly.” Cassandra felt as if she might choke. “Then it is simple, and I can find courage easily. But not always. About some things I am a great coward.”

“What are you a coward about?” It was a genuine question. Josephine was not scoffing at the idea of Cassandra being a coward; she was clearly curious.

And there it was.

 _I could say_ dancing _, if I wanted to make a joke of it. I could say anything._

She was silent for a very long time, and Josephine simply waited patiently, watching her struggle with herself. “About telling you how I feel about you,” she said finally.

It was done.

Josephine had a small, tender smile on her face, and it did not change when Cassandra spoke. “But now you have. And so I must be brave as well, and tell you how I feel about you.”

Cassandra stared at her. “You— But—”

Josephine set fingers against her lips to quiet her. “There are always ‘buts,’” she said. “And they are almost always surmountable. In this case I am quite determined that they will be overcome. Will you allow me the chance to prove it?”

She took her fingers away, and Cassandra somehow found her voice, and then took Josephine’s hand in hers. “Josephine—” Perhaps she had not found her voice, but someone else’s; it was unfamiliar and seemed to be shaking.

“I think,” said the Ambassador, “that you should probably kiss me. It is the expected thing, when one professes feelings. And although you haven’t exactly done that in so many words, the mea—”

Her lips were as soft as Cassandra had ever imagined, and as sweet, and they stilled in surprise under Cassandra’s for a second. And then she extricated her hand from Cassandra’s and reached out with both arms to wrap them around the Seeker’s neck.

It was impossible to think when Josephine’s mouth was against hers, breath warm, lips parted and shifting against hers. It was impossible to think with the scent of roses all around her, so she did not try. Cassandra took her weight off the arm that propped her, caught Josephine round the waist, fell back onto the blanket, and got down to kissing her properly.

There was nothing but the feeling of Josephine’s mouth against hers, lips, breath, tongue, testing, tasting, slow, steady, she was weak with it, _oh Maker_. The sound of the birds, the wind, the spring, all had faded; now there was only the sound of their breathing, the tiny noises of their mouths touching. The rustle of clothing as they adjusted to each other. The feeling of fine smooth fabric under her hands, the warmth under that. The weight of Josephine’s body above hers, solid and real. _Now there is all the time in the world_ , Cassandra thought, and fell into the sensation. _Josephine_.

She was in no hurry. This was the culmination of weeks, months of frustration, and although her body was wound tight as a bowstring, she wanted it to last, to savour every moment, to be aware of every second, every feeling, every sensation. Josephine seemed content to follow her lead, moving against her just a little, her weight shifting in the smallest ways. She had begun to breathe deeply. But then so had Cassandra.

After a time Josephine shifted so that her weight was to one side, and her hand came up to rest against Cassandra’s breastbone. “I want to touch you,” she murmured against the Seeker’s mouth, and Cassandra felt a bolt stop her breathing.

“Yes.”

Things were much easier when one was not wearing a cuirass; there were not nearly so many fastenings. Clothing could be loosened, a hand could move beneath it, and Josephine’s hand did exactly that. The feeling of her palm sliding over bare skin was exquisite. And when Josephine pushed fabric aside and … Oh, there was not enough air in the world for it. “Take off your shirt,” Josephine murmured, and Cassandra obeyed, sitting up just long enough to pull off both shirt and breastband, then falling back again under Josephine’s attentions.

She had not intended, had not expected, to make love to Josephine when they rode out today. She had not expected that she would ever make love to Josephine. When she had imagined it—as how had she not?—it happened in Josephine’s bed, soft and comfortable and familiar from the time spent there when she was ill. Cassandra was very certain that Josephine would not want to make love on Cassandra’s pallet, which was narrow and hard. Josephine was a lady and deserved to be treated as a lady, loved in the comfortable surroundings of her own room. Even now, as they lay kissing on a blanket spread on turf, she had held a hazy expectation that they would kiss for a time and then return to the comforts of Skyhold.

Josephine, it seemed, had other ideas; she caught the Seeker’s hand and brought it up to the fastenings of her own shirt. The meaning was plain.

It was a little awkward to undo with only one hand, her other arm being wrapped around Josephine and therefore trapped beneath the weight of her body with Josephine showing no sign whatsoever of wanting to move any further away in the interests of convenience, but she managed it. Josephine shrugged out of the shirt, and then there were the fastenings of her corset, even more complicated. In the end Josephine helped with those, laughing, and Cassandra could not help but laugh with her.

And then Josephine was not laughing anymore, and neither was Cassandra.

Later, lying tangled together in the warm sun, so relaxed that she thought she might fall asleep, Cassandra ran her hands over bare skin and marveled at the softness, at the very fact that she was doing so. Josephine _had_ fallen asleep, and was making an adorable sound with her breathing; not a snore, no, it was too soft and gentle for that. It was a purr. _After this… I would purr too if I could_.

One of the horses had wandered close to where they lay as it grazed. A butterfly alighted on its nose, and it swung its head up snorting. Cassandra smiled and turned her attention back to her lover. Josephine had opened her eyes and lay lazily looking back at her.

“I have been wanting to do that for a _very_ long time,” she said.

“How long?” Had Josephine truly been wanting her as she had wanted Josephine?

“Ah,” said the Ambassador, stretching against her in a way that made all Cassandra’s senses sit up and take notice, “let me see. At the ball at Halamshiral you offered to dance with me.”

“Since then?” said Cassandra incredulously. That was impossible to believe.

“No,” said Josephine, chuckling. “But that was when you first caught my attention. It was so very unexpected, and went against everything I thought I knew about you. It made me curious. Why _did_ you offer to dance with me?”

Cassandra felt herself blushing. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just—it seemed unfair that you had not had the opportunity, after working so hard.”

“Knowing how you feel about dancing, it was such a kind thing to do,” said Josephine. “You were always so brusque in your interactions with people, and besides that had been unhelpful to me in the matter of Nevarran diplomatic connections, and so I thought you arrogant and uncaring. I realized then that I had misjudged you, and that made me want to get to know you, to understand you better. But as for the rest…” She was smiling a little. “When we were estranged, I was very upset, but I told myself that it was because you were such a good friend. But when you were injured, and recovering in my apartments—that was when I understood clearly not just that I loved you, but that I wanted you. And that I wanted to do something about it.”

 _That I loved you_. Cassandra’s breath stilled in happiness.

Wait. _That I wanted to do something about it?_

“And then you _did_ dance with me,” Josephine was saying. “And all I could think of was how it felt to be in your arms, how much I loved you. I was not sure if you felt the same way, but I thought you might.”

“Josephine,” said Cassandra slowly, “ _did_ you ‘do something about it’?”

Josephine’s expression did not change, but she had begun to blush. “I didn’t want to push you, for I wanted your friendship even if you could give no more, but I did want to _know_.”

Cassandra found a smile starting. “You have been trying to seduce me.”

“I… may have provided a few opportunities for you to act on, should you choose to do so,” said Josephine primly. “Oh Cassandra, I wanted you so much. I didn’t want to make you act against your own nature. But you were not being very clear about how you felt. And you were being so _dense_ about it all.”

Cassandra began to laugh as she had not laughed in a very long time. “I am not very good at interpreting such things. I was trying to work out if _you_ felt an attraction.”

“Then I am not sure that _dense_ is quite adequate to describe it,” said Josephine dryly. “By the end I do not know how I could have been more obvious.”

“I—am unused to matters of the heart,” said Cassandra, sobering. “There has only ever been Galyan, and that was a long time ago. And I was afraid.”

Josephine was silent for a little; she laid her palm against Cassandra’s cheek and simply regarded her. She seemed to be thinking. Then she said slowly, “When you fell into the Fade at Adamant—that was when I realized that I could not—I thought for a time that I had lost you. Not for long, word came quickly. But it was too long.”

“Josephine—”

“No, let me finish.” Josephine laid fingers against her lips, stilling her. “That was when I really realized how much you meant to me. That it was not simple. That I must find a way for us to be together, to stay together, if you wished it. That is what I have been doing over the past weeks, and I think I have succeeded. Perhaps it is foolish to mention it now—we do not know if this will work, I do not even know if you wish us to stay together—but—”

“Josephine,” said Cassandra, and kissed her, felt Josephine go boneless against her, felt a rush of love like wings rising, stars turning, feathers settling. “I do wish it,” she said after a little while, and saw her lover smile like sunrise.

“Dance with me again,” said Josephine softly.

And she did.

**Author's Note:**

> "I will write a wee story for Lecriteuse's birthday!" I said to myself. And then, having gotten confused on months, realized that said birthday was NOW rather than a month in the future. "Oh well," I said to myself, "I'll write it for when I *thought* it was, not for the real date."
> 
> And then I got... interested. And the story kind of expanded. And in the end the wee story wasn't so wee anymore. 
> 
> So it's very, very belated. But hey, birthday cheer should be spread out, right?


End file.
